Twilight Tommy I: Great Fight
by GitariArt
Summary: Tommy wakes up miserably in a world that is not right and has to come to terms with what has happened to him and the rest of the volunteer patients of a drug test study gone Wyrd. Based on a Changeling the Lost campaign. 18 chapters (including prolog). Supportive comments and constructive criticism welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a major rewrite of a story that I have already posted once—Great Fight: Redux, if you will. When a reader had kindly notified me of grammatical errors, in the first verion of the story, I was embarrassed. When I started to re-read the story, in an effort to correct the errors, I was even more embarrassed, for the story was not as good as I had intended it to be. I believe the story is much better now and I have found a wonderful beta reader, who has cleaned up my varuous technical difiucltyes. I hope you will enjoy the resilt.

For acknowledgements please see my profile: u/5451641/GitariArt

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characgers, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual events, is coincidental. Insperation was taken from World of Darkness's Changeling: the Lost RPG, however artistic license has been liberally applied to many key terms.

Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goese to jazznsmoke, she is the beta reader that cleaned out all of the grammar bombs.

**Great Fight**

A Twilight Tommy Tale

Prologue:

Sitting in my little black Festiva nest to a massive and chatty (no longer a) man, I looked for any distraction to help me calm my mind. The big guy is jovial and generally pleasant, however he tends to speak for the sake of filling any silence. So, I turn to my notes/journal and start to transcribe a more organized outline. Either my companion is oblivious to me, or he ignores the rudeness—whichever one of us is at fault.

It feels like it has been a lifetime; in many ways I think it has at least been the beginning of one. Yet, my notes confirm, it has been little more than a couple of weeks since waking once more in the really Real World. I hope that what I sit here distracting myself from, will not bring this new life to a gruesome end.

If nothing happens tonight, or if our quarry does show up and I survive the encounter, then I shall have to expand this outline into something more. Perhaps I shall attempt to publish and distribute a, sort of, beginner's guide to other hapless mortals that have been unfortunate enough to be "touched" by spirits, only to be returned to a mundane home that has moved on—and was never as mundane as they thought in the first place…

So I did and now you are reading it.

17 Nights Earlier

I was being shook awake. The shaker was insistent, yet not violent—it was bad anyway. I was a couple of different kinds of sore. First and foremost the sore of exhaustion, the all over body ache of needing more sleep, which was the largest reason for having to be shook and why it was so ineffective. The other sore was many localized pains from what would eventually prove to be scrapes and bruises, plus strained and knotted muscles. It was these secondary aches that sent sharp jolts past the exhaustion every time I was jostled, thus helping the raspy voiced man to wake me.

Who was raspy voice guy? How did he get here...? Where was here? These and other similar obtuse questions flashed through my brain as I opened my eyes and tried to answer them. Many answers arrived fairly swiftly, although in nothing like an organized or helpful manner. Plus, most of these answers did not make sense.

For instance, the raspy voice—like someone that had smoked too much and might need an oxygen tank—belonged to the grumpy divorcée. Now what did that mean...? Ken. Yeah, he had said he was Ken. So, how and why do I recognize Ken? And what was the deal with the weird lighting? And why was I in a strange bed? Why did I think I should be in a strange bed, just not that one?

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then tried to rub lubrication back into some of my stiff and sore limbs. Kendal! Anther mind wave, I was in room 106 of the Kendal drug study… something about final stage testing of new anxiety meds. Yeah, right, a group of us had been assigned to room 106 and Ken was one of us, he was ticked off that his new ex-wife had hosed him so hard that he needed to play lab rat for extra cash.

Ken looked messed up, worse than I felt. I had thought that Ken was in his mid thirties, now his sallow sunken cheeks, flinty baggy eyes, and dry graying hair made him seem much older. The day before… was that right? It felt like much longer, that could not make sense. Kendal was only going to keep us for observation from Saturday to Sunday. We must still be at Kendal, so it must just be Sunday. I shook my head to try and get it back on track. Ken, yes good, Ken the day before he had seemed a little taller than me, maybe six two or six three, sort of generic brown hair, clean shaven, and average in build. Ken had seemed full of energy, not quite able to find a comfortable place to sit, always picking things up and putting them down again. Sitting on the bed in the weird light, the man seemed to loom over me, gaunt and eerily still.

Of course, the lighting still seemed weird, like it was too dark, yet clear at the same time, and I was a bit woozy still, so maybe I just wasn't getting a good look at the other man. That did not explain his stillness, but maybe Ken was less fidgety when he was tired.

My mind had started to weave some of its desperate partial-memories together into more cohesive threads of thought. Ken and the crappy bed in the strange room gave me Kendal and the medical trial. I also remembered drifting off to sleep, listening to the others already breathing the deep, steady breaths of sleep, behind their privacy curtains. I had muzzily thought that I had been the last to settle down and that it was just greater proof that I was so much younger and more vibrant than the other people in my room. I had guessed it was close to midnight, however Kendal had made me stow my phone with the rest of my personal gear and they did not provide any clocks, so it could have been earlier, or later…. Then dark sleep… then the shaking.

As I looked around I realized that my bed was weird for a reason other than it was not my bed in the dorms. When we had realized that this was to be our room for the night, I had selected one of the four beds under a window. Sure the window was barred and only looked out onto Kendal's side parking lot and the blank yellow-beige wall of the neighboring office building, but it was at least something more to look at than just the dreary room we had been assigned. However, as I came slowly to slightly more consciousness, I saw that I was in a bed on the opposite site of the room. Also, I was on top of a mildly musty smelling blanket. I know I had wedged myself under the cheap bedding before sleep and that they had smelled freshly laundered. Had Ken moved me...? and beat me up, I could not remember ever aching so much.

Other data filtered through, as well as adding to my disorientation. The room we had been assigned, number 106, had been set up like hospital, or barracks, style layout. Eight single sized beds, each with a nightstand (one shallow drawer) and a slightly padded chair. The furnishings were not hospital grade, though; they were Ikea or Wal-Mart brands at best. Although, each sleeping area did have a hospital style curtained set up for a minimum of individual privacy. Plus a long white-plastic folding table and matching chairs had been in the center of the room between the two rows of four beds. Otherwise room 106 had been bare, off white in color (both the painted cinder block walls and the linoleum floors), dominated by the slight buzz of the overhead florescent lights, chilly, and smelling of cleaning fluids. My senses were providing significantly different data the more I woke up. The room had become seriously disheveled, beds jostled out of place (one was even upended against a wall), leaves on the floor, curtains missing, window blinds missing or at cockamamie angles, only six beds instead of eight, the bed on which I sat was the only one with a blanket, no sign of chairs or table, only one nightstand with a lamp (no shade, but the bulb produced weak and harsh light) and the like. Plus, the floor had muddy tracks and the chill had turned outright cold.

The grimy footprints on the linoleum led my eyes to my own bare and muddy feet. I had fallen asleep in the little no-skid socks the nurses had provided, along with the scrub pants and shirt. When we had been assigned our room, Dr. Anwynn's nurse assistants had collected all of our personal belongings in well-labeled totes and had us dress in the lightweight hospital garments. Now my feet looked (and felt) like they had been on a thousand mile trek through foot deep rocky and muddy ground. The legs of my pants were even tattered to almost the knee and they were dirty all over. My shirt was missing completely, which meant my chest, sides, and back had scratches and were just as dirty as my legs and what was left of my pants.

I saw the evidence, felt the grit and sores, smelled the earthiness, however I still could not quite process what it meant, or even why I felt like it was so terribly wrong. I did know something, many things in fact, were simply wrong, I simply could not get my head around the sheer number of problems. Of course, I had only been up for a minute or so, so I had every reason to expect to become more enlightened as time progressed.

I had also noted several other people in the room, in addition to the dour faced Ken. Room 106 had three doors, one to the hall, one to the unisex toilet, and a windowless-steel emergency exit direct to the rear of the building. To either side of the dull-brown emergency door two large bodies slumped. I could not see them clearly in the gloom, yet some synapses fired in my brain, telling me the two men were the fireman and the engineer… Hank and Leroy. At least I was almost certain about their names. The last two people in the room were women, Solanna and Gerri, again I felt like I might be getting the names slightly wrong somehow. Gerri, a knock out Girl-next-door tom-boy type was also passed out in the bed next to me, which I was pretty sure was not where she had chosen the night before. The chatty blond Lit major, Solanna, was lurking over Gerri and trying to rouse the woman as Ken had done for me.

All of my roommates looked as tired and beat up as I did. Although myself and the big black guy, Leroy, and the muscley Hank were the only ones missing shirts. Could we have been playing some sort of team sport outside? Touch football, shirts verses skins...? In the middle of the cold October night...? That's right it had been the night before Halloween-Devil's Night—was that significant? Did we go out to play some pranks? Or, did the fireman guy, Hank, go after some vandals and we…what, followed him? It all seemed highly unlikely.

Also why had Kendal put men and women in the same room? I vaguely remember the two talkative participants, Hank and Solanna, commenting on how strange it was while we sat around the day before. We had all sort of assumed that we had been sent into room 106 to change into our scrubs (taking turns in the small toilet (no bathtub or shower), then they would sort us out more later. Only the longer we sat around waiting for our doses of the test meds, the more it became clear that we would all be sharing the room the whole night… Yet, for some reason none of us thought to mention it to the staff…

"Huh?" I said, as my wandering and wondering mind realized that Ken and Solanna had been talking to me.

"Are you okay? What's the last thing you remember?" the brownish-gray haired man repeated.

"I… I think so." I ran my hands over more of my body, looking for any serious damage. "The last thing I remember… was getting under my covers and going to sleep. I think it was close to midnight."

Solana jumped in. "Did you see the nurse with the slugs?!... Wait, no of course not. You were the first one she hit." She looked worse than Ken. I had thought the lady looked pleasantly plump the day before, like maybe she never quite dropped her freshman twenty, yet still curvy rather than doughy. However, by the so called illumination of that one small lamp, Solana looked almost dead, sunken eyes within dark circles, hollow cheeks, limp and tangled hair, and she even seemed thinner some how.

Enough of my cognitive abilities had fired up to tell me that it was impossible that Solanna was thinner after one night. One partial night, because it was still very dark outside the three barred and wire reinforced safety windows. I had to be experiencing optical illusions, from the bad lighting and my own fatigue. Unless I was drunk or drugged? Maybe I was having a bad reaction to the test medicine.

Gerri had sat up and looked around, my spluttering memory claimed she was another student and in the military ROTC program. Oddly the attractive woman did not look as bad off as the rest of us. Gerri, of course, remained a petite five-foot-three and pale skinned. The day before Gerri had dressed in crisply starched dress shirt and slacks with shoulder length hair almost as severe and no make-up, even so she had clearly been classically pretty for a lady. Somehow in the gloom and through my addled eyes, the vaguely militant woman looked more fresh, like a teen, her tussled hair almost seemed red instead of brunette, and there seemed to be delicate freckles on the creamy cheeks of her heart shaped face where none had been before. I blinked many times to try and clear my vision, to no avail. Even Gerri's scrubs looked cleaner and more form fitting than any of the rest of us and the only mud on her seemed to be an artful smudge on one elegant cheekbone.

I do not know if Gerri was just luckier than the rest of us, or if her ROTC training helped her recovery, whatever the case she did seem to spring awake and get her bearings faster than me. Gerri reached out and gently stroked Solana's arm, "Hey, slow down." She glance at Ken and me, her green eyes actually seemed to find enough illumination to sparkle. "You two should check on them." Gerri nodded to the men on the floor by the emergency exit. Then the unbelievably well off woman turned to Solana and spoke soothingly for a bit.

When Ken and I walked over to the two slumbering giants, I happened to be on the side closer to fireman Hank. Ken was a giant too, for that matter, as far as I was concerned. I was just over six-foot tall and every other man in the room was at least two or three inches taller than me, Leroy at least four. And Hank, well Hank and Gerri should have been in movies; he had not so subtly mentioned being selected for the fireman's calendar three years running. The forty-something guy was a fireman with a chiseled jaw, rock hard muscles, good hair with just a touch of gray at the temples, and a great tan in Ohio—at the end of October. Life was unfair to those of us built like… well; one unkind girl had said that I looked like I was made of broomsticks and tennis balls.

Hank was so perfect that even his reason for volunteering for the Kendal study seemed designed to melt people's hearts. The rest of us were all students at the university and this semester's financial aid payments had gotten screwed up, so a bunch of us were not going to get living expenses until much later. So, a few of us volunteered to be Kendal guinea pigs for the $1050 participation payment. Except for Ken, who was a fencing instructor at University of Ohio, but needed the money because of his "bitch ex" and his own "incompetent Lawyer". Hank, on the other hand, needed extra cash to help his elderly twin sisters with their rent. The calendar model had even claimed, "I usually just get a side job with some of the other firemen hanging drywall or building decks. But there just weren't any jobs right now."

I had found it very hard to sympathize with the near-Adonis. Only, perhaps I was doing better than Hank at that moment. When I knelt down and shook the civil servant's bare shoulder he looked bad, like maybe he had fallen face first into the mud and it had dried on him. Plus, the odd lighting made his tan seem much more orange-y. Even when I touched Hank's skin it felt coarse and dry and almost as cold as the wall I braced my other hand on. Luckily, the big guy came awake with very little effort on my part. Hank, like Gerri, seemed to shake off any sleepiness and just start taking in the situation.

Meanwhile, Ken had roused Leroy. The African-American man was not just tall he was wide. When we had selected our beds from the singles offered, Leroy had not complained, but he had not fit either, feet stuck off the end and arms and waist draped over the sides. Leroy had been super-quiet; even so the easy charm of Hank and bubbly chitchat from Solana had drawn all of us into conversation at some point during the long hours that we had waited for our doses, without any other entertainment. Leroy eventually told us that he was an engineering major and his physique had made more sense to me, he really looked like someone that spent a lot of time sitting at a screen, either drafting plans or playing video games, or both consecutively. Of course, Leroy also looked off in the bad lighting, only he (like Gerri) seemed healthier somehow… something about the way he moved and stood… Pus, as much as Solana seemed paler than the previous day, Leroy seemed darker.

That idea was so absurd that it caused me, for the first time, to try and examine the thoughts that had been chaotically careening around my noggin. The quick conclusion that I decided to go with for the time being was that a combination of bad lighting and extreme fatigue was definitely causing me to mildly hallucinate. The adverse effect of drugs from the study was still a close second, however none of my companions had said or done anything to indicate that they were seeing any weirdness.

Once all six of us were conscious, each of us had questions and hoped one of the others could answer. None of us were firing on all cylinders, so it quickly turned into a conversational roller coaster, of not everyone listening. "Are you okay?" "What happened?" "What do you remember?" "Did you see the nurse putting giant slugs on our mouths?" "What happened to the room?" "Is this the same place?" "What time is it?" "Where's our stuff?" "How did I get over here?" "What do you mean slugs?" "What happened to my slippers?" "Why are we all scratched up?" and so on.

We stood in a loose circle in the middle of the mostly dark room. One or the other of us would pace out or back with occasional frustration or confusion. We all shivered in the cold, however for those first few minutes clothing did not seem like much of a priority. If nothing else, I was worried about falling asleep again and the crisp air helped to keep me conscious, if not alert.

I remember thinking that I should be more upset or panicked, as we kept talking over each other. However, I decided I was too tired and confused to waste any effort on frustration or anger. Besides, the babbling outside my head seemed to create some kind of harmony with my interior confusion and I did recall more clearly much of what I had already been vaguely remembering.

It was at this point that I also remember the full names we had all exchanged around the now missing folding table. Solana had insisted that full names were more interesting and "besides, I might want to send everyone a Christmas email or something". Sociable extroverts always say and do stuff like that, I never had the energy for it, however I am always impressed when I see it. The others in our group also clearly remembered our names from they way we addressed each other.

Here is the thing about our names, since that day, I have learned how valuable such things as True Names are. So, I shall continue using the moniker I have established for a while, in spite of how it effects my over all tale. If you, dear reader, want to know any of our True Names, then you shall have to find us and bargain for each in turn. I guarantee that mine, at least, is no longer for sale as cheap as $1050.

In any event our sextet did sort a few details out; too few really, however it was the best we could do. We were all sore, tired, and hungry, as if we had been doing a lot of manual labor for a long time. I was so tired I had not even registered the hunger until Hank had mentioned it, then I was too woozy to be able to consider it for long. One of the others did eventually mention that our appearances looking as messed up as the room—Solana especially looked sickly and thinner to everyone, although she did not profess any greater discomfort. Even so, My own hallucinations, or whatever, were confirmed by the others as well, Hank's tan looked more like a bad spray-on, Leroy's skin seemed darker—more like true black than dark brown—Ken appeared more weathered, leathery and older, Geri still, somehow, looked more disheveled than beaten—almost like a television star version of messed up—and her hair was shimmery and dark red. By the report of the other five, I had faired almost as well as Gerri, they said I looked more athletic and that my shaggy brown hair had lightened, also that I was both tan and paler somehow.

I did not press against the contradiction, I had a sense of what they meant. As I looked at each of them I could almost see how I knew they were supposed to look in a sort of double-exposed vision of how my addled mind was seeing them.

Yet, there was one other trait the others all seemed to share that none of them had mentioned. I had noticed that I kept trying to stand straighter, feeling as if I were slouching for some reason. Then I realized I had not been slouching, rather I felt like the others had grown—some more than others—just enough to make me feel like my head was lower than it should be. When I made the observation known, the others agreed that I seemed shorter than the day before.

"It has to be something to do with the drugs, they gave us." Ken rasped. He had admitted that he heard the change in his voice, but his throat was not sore. "Because, I swear, I am seeing better than I should be able to with just that crappy bulb." He jabbed a thumb at the lamp.

"So," I mused along, "you think we're more light sensitive?"

The aged looking man shrugged, "Maybe, but it has to be more to explain the distortions we see."

"And feel." I pointed out my observation of Hank's skin, and then added, "Plus, if we're just hallucinating then the room is probable not really messed up, but I can't find the missing beds." I walked into the empty spaces where beds should have been.

We did not spend much time on that discussion. As a group, our quick consensus had been that whatever had happened to us was effecting our perceptions, yet determining our next steps was much more pressing for the time being. We decided to walk through what each of us remembered last. After I recounted my memory of dozing off after everyone else. Solana spoke up.

The unhealthy looking woman had regained some composure while the group had bantered and she recounted with a storyteller's enthusiasm. "I had sort of awoken to roll over." She was very expressive with her hands as she spoke, making a twisting gesture to illustrate roll over, and so forth. "I was just drifting off to sleep again, when a nurse entered the room, quietly pushing a cart with what seemed like jars on it." Pushing gesture. "At least I saw the jars eventually, because I did not bother sitting up right away." the lady's sunken eyes panned the rest of us as she spoke. "Anyway, she went around to each of you and did something near your heads."

"At first I thought it was just another round of pills." Part of the drug study we had signed up for meant that we had to take a set of pills every four hours. "So, I figured I would stay put and wait my turn…"

Solana pursed her thin lips to one side and scrunched her brow in thought. "The thing is, Gerri was in the bed next to me and we had not bothered with the dividing curtain." Gerri nodded as she recalled that detail and the Lit GA continued. "And there was light from the parking lot coming through the windows." Point to the windows.

I realized there was no such light now. There was some faint illumination outside, yet nothing near as strong as a parking lot lamp anywhere nearby.

"So," Solana went on, "I could see Gerri's sleeping face turned towards me. The nurse got Gerri second to last. I thought she was going to gently wake Gerri and give her some pills. I could just make out the nurse placing something glistening wet over Gerri's nose and mouth."

The storyteller met each of our eyes again, her own orbs wide with a mixture of conviction and pleading. "I freaked. I jumped out of bed and tried to run for the hallway," A sweeping gesture to the relevant door. "I could tell you all had large clear-ish slugs on your faces," A pause to let that sink in.

"The bitch nurse grabbed me and tried to slap one of the slimy things on my mouth too." Solana's nose wrinkled in disgust. "She missed my face and it hit my back. I felt drugged immediately and stumbled." She wobbled her whole body as an example. "Before I knew it, she got one over my nose and mouth and I blacked out."

"Then I woke up in the wrong bed, in this ransacked room, and started waking you." Solana concluded by waving towards Ken.

We all processed Solana's claim over a long pause. I do not think any of us fully believed her any more than we believed what our own eyes had been reporting. It was most likely the sickly woman was just hallucinating worst than the rest of us. Yet, none of us had any better explanation. Not that Solana's story explained all that much, even if true and accurate.

Gerri broke the silence, her voice bell clear and soft as a breeze, "Well, the nurse isn't here now. We've been up for almost fifteen minutes, by my reasoning, and no one has arrived. The only things I've heard outside of this room are those dogs."

Many dogs could be heard yipping and baying not too far away. I had not registered the canines until Gerri mentioned them, but then realized that I had been hearing them pretty much the whole time. For some reason I was very glad to be inside behind closed doors.

"So," Gerri continued, her legs slightly apart and planted firmly and her hands clasped behind her back (even exhausted, I had to look away to not be distracted by what the stance did to her ample chest). "We need to assess what we do have to work with, see if there is anyone else in the building, and hopefully find a phone to call for help."

Hank readily and heartily agreed. The rest of us were relieved to be able to defer to the fireman and ROTC cadet as experts on this matter. The immediate inventory was sparse. No one had any footwear, although we were all muddy to mid-calf as well as our arms to the elbows. The mud smelled dank and vegetal and was still fairly damp. There was just enough musty blankets, sheets, and privacy curtains left to provide those of us without shirts some upper body protection and foot wrappings for the two ladies. Hank and Ken had wanted a makeshift weapon of some kind, however all the furniture proved far too flimsy, even the lamp was lightweight plastic.

Without clocks, cell phones, or watches we could only guess at the time. Room 106 was on the ground floor of the two story building and at a back corner and our three barred windows still only looked out to a blank brick wall several yards away, plus the buildings were backed by lawn that led to a tributary to the Hocking River. So, we could not see the road. Also the incessant hounds barking and howling made it impossible to tell if any traffic was passing nearby. Plus, the road that connected to the front parking area had been at least fifty yards away and not very busy on Saturday morning, anyway. So, based on the darkness out side we felt confident that t was nowhere near dawn and that was as close to a time any of us could guess.

The next couple of hours were like a horror movie come to life, one of those you-never-quite-see-it kinds. Our exhaustion and odd sensory distortions most likely added to the eeriness. Although, what I was calling hallucinations remained very consistent, even the being able to see better than we should with no real light source of which to speak. Which I began to think was even more odd, as I had always been under the impression that hallucinations would come and go over time.

For the record, I have long since learned that I was mistaken about how hallucination can manifest. Not that it was ultimately applicable either way, as you shall also discover if you continue reading.

Outside, the lights of the parking lot were out and the streetlights were not near by. The howling dogs seemed close, closer than the nearest residential area at least. So, added to the general tension and being barely garbed, none of us wanted to go out into the dark autumn night.

We stayed together and searched the main floor of the building. It was abandoned, no phones, computers, files, or much of anything- definitely no people, at least not on the ground floor and no response came to our calling up and down the stairwells. By then, I was pretty certain, that all of my companions felt like I did about the horror-movie vibe. Maybe if any of us could have thought more clearly, we would have risked exploring further. From what we would learn a couple of days layer, I am glad we did not.

Still while searching I could not help but get little reinforcing flashes of memory for how it had been only a day ago. The tiled floors, dry walls, and drop ceilings had all been clean, albeit dingy from age—everything was just off-white, or not quite beige anymore. The generic office spaces had been re-purposed for almost medical use, narrow beds instead of cubical-farms, extra toilets instead of storage closets, and so forth. The whole building had smelled of antiseptic mixed with human body odors, like most any clinics or old age home.

Our search revealed that the building was now empty, to the best of our satisfaction, and it seemed like it had been so for months, dust covered most surfaces and the air smelled musty like an attic. The heating system seemed to be functioning, but set somewhere in the sixties. We could not find a thermostat control, so we did a lot of shivering in our ragged-clothed states.

The one remotely good thing we did find—well, Leroy found, in the back of a high closet shelf—was some spare scrubs and a couple more cheap blankets. Although, Hank did find one of the larger style fire extinguisher and picked it up. No one questioned the weightlifter about his new tool. It was clear that Hank felt the extinguisher might be a usable weapon and that seemed to raise his spirits. Yet, even at the time, I thought it would have been hilarious to see exactly how such a fight would play out.

We did find one room that was technically in use. At the far end of the building, nearest the main entrance, room 101 was full of clear-fronted industrial-sized refrigeration units. Each was filled with packets of blood or plasma, labeled as if they were Red Cross donations. There were pick up/drop off logs hanging on each fridge.

Ken had inspected one of the logs. "Here's something worth noting. Someone seems to access these units roughly every six months." The rest of us blinked at the dour man, he rolled his tired eyes and went on. "The last one was in early September… 2011, practically seven years after our check in date." I got chills that had nothing to do with the temperature, then Ken concluded. "And this log goes back a few years."

"So," Hank asked from near the door—he had taken to acting like a sentry as we investigated the various rooms, "they've been collecting blood for a long time? Kendal is a medical company, it seems like that's up their alley."

Ken shook his head and replaced the clipboard. "This wasn't here yesterday. I distinctly remember other participants being assigned to room 101."

"Hey, yeah," Gerri snapped her fingers and pointed at Ken, "you're right. In fact there were eight people to a room, except for us in the last one assigned."

Hank then had the idea to check the ventilation system. Apparently, a properly maintained facility has regular checks. He reasoned that, "If this was a legit bio storage building, then the inspector will have marked the furnace door. Several of us were clinging to the hopes that this was a practical joke, maybe a reality TV gimmick. The furnace showed last checked October 13th, 2011… That was too much. We had checked in on October 30th, 2004. The idea that a prank would be that thorough was not possible to accept.

I had to go.

My mind was reeling again, well it had not stopped, so lets say more—and I was not exactly surefooted physically. I kept trying to think of something that would make sense. All my thoughts turned out like the prank idea—evidence sort of fit to a point, then something would happen to disprove the idea. I felt like I was trapped in my own head, running in broken logic circles. The abandoned building only made it worse.

I grabbed one of the shirts Leroy had found and used a screw in one of the broken beds we had found to make strips out of it. Then I tied my feet in the bundled remains of the shirt.

Meanwhile, the baying of the hounds had faded into the distance.

When we had looked out through the windows that did face the road, we confirmed that the parking lot lights were out, however across the road and down a ways, there seemed to be a convenience store. We had all agreed that the store had not been there the day before. The store was there and the day before all of a sudden did not seem like it was where it belonged… Perhaps, "all of a sudden" is an exaggeration, considering all the evidence that had been accruing; yet that is how I felt.

The others had just followed my frantic movements back to the bed and watched me wrapping my feet. I jerked my head toward the front of the building. "I'm getting the hell out of here and over to that Liquor store." I spoke while watching what I was doing with my feet. "They have power and must have a phone."

The other five people set to bundling their feet and wrapping themselves in blankets as best as our supplies would allow.

Earlier Gerri and Hank had advocated for staying inside until morning, just to see better, if no other reason. I am glad that they and the rest chose to come with me, rather than waiting for daylight. First because I am not sure my resolve alone would have kept me moving once out in the cold. Second, because when the hounds returned, I would not have been able to deal with them.

While I was convinced that we were hallucinating from whatever pills we had been given. Thus, helping to explain the off-ness to our appearances, at the very least. Yet, I could not shake the idea that if I was hallucinating, then why was the pain, cold, hunger, and sense of time passing so consistent with my normal expectations? Not to mention with what the others had been saying about their conditions. It made me think of the old adage, "Only sane people worry that they are crazy"…or is it a fallacy not an adage?

We made it to the convenience store and it was, thankfully, open—a smaller black "24 hrs" below the large red "Liquor". The store's parking area had one flickering lamp and the big yellow and red sign clearly needed most of it's florescent back lighting replaced. So, far better illuminated than the Kendal building's exterior, however still quite shadowy by comparison to the BP station next door, lit like a beacon for astronauts to see. At least what could be seen of the liquor store's interior seemed well lit.

We gathered in the weak pool of flickering light and reassessed our situation. "You all realize," Ken said rubbing his hands together, "we look pretty ridiculous, right? What's the clerk going to think if we all go in?"

We all appraised each other and I nodded agreement. "Yeah we look like a gang of homeless people."

"Or asylum escapees." Gerri said somberly while rubbing her upper arms for warmth.

"So," Hank proposed, "maybe we don't all go in? One or two will seem less threatening."

"Hey," Solana had wondered closer to the entrance and was pointing to the newspaper vending boxes; "I know someone mentioned Kendal may have been a prank show or something with the fake dates and stuff. But these papers say it's Monday, November 7th 2011 and they might still be yesterday's."

The group started to fret about the dates and how we should proceed. Meanwhile, whether it was 2004 or 2011, it was still definitely a bitter pre-dawn autumn mourning. Even with the lack of any breeze, it was still far to cold to be standing around in what amounted to raggy pajamas. Plus, what we had started referring too as a wild dog pack seemed to have moved closer again. Not to mention how painfully numb my feet had become.

I threw up my hands and entered the small shop, not caring if my companions joined me. The door had bells that jangled. My eyes twinged a little as they adjusted, although not so badly as I had expected if my senses really had been altered for nocturnal activities. The aroma that enveloped me was a not wholly unpleasant blend of dust, cardboard, old tobacco smoke, and warm spices. Most importantly it was warm, my feet had begun to tingle back to life almost immediately.

There were no other patrons. A grandmotherly-looking Asian lady sat behind the counter watching some talk show on a tiny, old, television. There was a longhaired dog near the door. It was that Asian breed that looks more like a lion than a dog and it was around the size of a terrier. It had three tails. That rattled me, and then I figured it could have been a genetic defect (like multi-dactyl cats), or it could be that I was still just seeing things. As I tried to get my bearings, the aged dog stood and started breathing hard at me, not exactly a growl, yet certainly not inviting.

All of my coincidental companions remained outside. The single glass door was so plastered with various advertisements I had no idea what the other were doing, or even if they had remained. Part of me imagined that the group had thought I looked most needy—like a grown up Dickensian orphan, in my rags—so they estimated that me alone would garner the most sympathy and assistance. A larger part of me just figured that they all wanted to see how badly I would crash and burn before they made an effort.

I stayed by the door and called to the woman, "Excuse me."

The clerk barely glanced at me, over her shoulder and through coke-bottle glasses. "You go!" In a thick accent, that I guessed was Chinese.

Meanwhile, the dog was staying in place, but getting larger. It was waist high and increasing. My stomach lurched and my mind flipped—not for the first time since waking. I would have run screaming, if I had not feared the emptiness outside more. It was not empty of course, but I felt like it was at the time. So, I told myself the inflating dog was a trick of my mind, I also suspected that I was lying.

I kept my eyes on the creature and gave communication with the old lady one last valiant effort. "Er…"

"Nothing here for you! You go!" The woman snapped again. Not even looking away from the television this time.

My distorted perception of the dog continued to be that it was pulsing, like a heart. Only on every other beat it was bigger than the last. It had increased almost to my shoulder. I backed out of the store, to another accompanying bell jangle, and closed the door.

The six of us really did look like asylum escapees and that seemed like an ever more reasonable conclusion. Which made me worry that I had not considered that I might be mad more seriously. Maybe Kendal was a mental hospital the whole time and we had only concocted the drug study, for our shared delusion… that we kept corroborating without any memory of originating it.

The wild pack howled again, from somewhere beyond the river behind Kendal, as best as I could tell.

The other five members of my party had not been able to see or hear through the old decoupaged door, so I gave a quick recap and suggested we move on to the BP. After a brief discussion Ken and Gerri decided to go into the liquor store and try their luck. None of my companions had really believed me about the expanding dog, as none of us really believed Solanna about the slugs. So, I could not feel particularly slighted. Plus, I was curious to see if the pretty lady and the tall grizzled man would fair any better.

If all went well Ken and Gerri would move forward with the plan, otherwise I hoped that the gas station would either have a rare pay-phone or the attendant would at least agree to call the police for us. I had presented the basic idea that we should contact the authorities as soon as possible. I had been surprised at the general reluctance from my fellow victims, based—as far as I could tell—on stress induced paranoia and absurd concern over how we would be perceived. Eventually, we were agreed that our best bet was to call the cops.

Without money to pay for the use of a phone or taxi we were stuck, although I admitted our lack of IDs may cause some difficulties with the police. Some of the others started proposing elaborate scenarios in which we were mugged, or Kendal had put us into comas or and so on. I did not pay them any real attention; as far as I was concerned the police were there to help people, regardless of why the people needed help, as long as we were not breaking any laws, of course. In my worst-case scenario, the cops would put us in a drunk tank. If we got lucky, the officers would place us in a homeless shelter and let social services deal with our story. Most likely, we were going to end up in a loony bin for a couple of days of observation. No matter what, as I saw it, each involved warm interiors with other people and probably food, clothes, and a cot.

Thus, while Gerri and Ken tried to get the obstinate shopkeeper to help, Hank and Solanna continued suggesting unlikely stories for the police. Leroy mostly just leans back on the lamppost and sort of watched the road. I continued to consider what had actually happened to us.

I stayed as much in the middle of our group as possible and tried to stay alert, while chasing more and more impossible options around my head. Since all of my reasonable ideas had broken down, fell back on the old Sherlock Holmes-ism "…eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." I turned to fiction for inspiration; we could be in a mass Bourne Identity deal, maybe aliens used Kendal as a cover and so forth. Of all the conspiracies I came up with then, the ones that seemed most likely were the hallucinogens. Either, it was a Total Recall variation, where I was really still in the Kendal and merely imagining the time and property loss. In which case, all of the people I was with were manifestations of my own psyche. Which would probably explain why we all saw the same messed up stuff. Or, we did break out of Kendal, but the hallucinations made us see tattered clothes, distorted bodies, wrong dates, and so on. For the next few hours, I vacillated back and forth believing one or the other of the last two ideas.

When I did eventually learn and accept the truth, even later still, I would be stunned. However, I did feel a fair amount of relief that there was no way I, or any of my party, could have guessed the truth yet to come.

After our two ambassadors had been gone for less than a minute, those of us huddled outside could hear Ken yelling at the clerk, even though the closed door made the specific words indistinguishable. The yelling went on for a while. I cringed a little, yet hoped Ken would provoke the old lady to calling the police for being threatening.

When the pair came out again, Ken had a new T-shirt—depicting a cartoon snowboarding penguin—on over his scrubs, a brown cap—with "HEAVY METAL, TRUCKER" printed in bold orange letters—and a quart of Tangle Ridge whiskey.

I looked at the duo with wide expectantly hopeful eyes. When Gerri saw me her cupid-doll lips quirked down at the corners and she bowed head slightly and shook it a little.

Ken noticed our expressions and pointed back at the store, with the same hand holding the booze. "I can't believe that woman. I was sure stealing would have prompted her to call the cops." He held the bottle for display and pulled at his new shirt with his other hand. "But, no. She just stared and said 'you go. You go.' He shook his head.

Looking back, as I do now, I believe that the elderly storeowner honestly thought we were safer without Athens' authorities involvement. I still absolutely disagree with the assessment. Although, I do not begrudge the sentiment.

The baying hounds sounded again, closer, like definitely on our side of the river and possibly just the other side of the abandoned Kendal building. I startled yet again, dogs should not be roaming wild in a pack in Athens Ohio and they certainly should not be willing to cross wide rivers. I walked quickly to the BP and my party followed without comment. I felt a small twinge of relief upon entering the halogen glare that scoured the pumps and three quarters of the cashier station.

It was a small station. The clerk was inside a little booth of bulletproof glass, reading a textbook. The booth was barely bigger than the medium sized clerk and had a slot for passing money back and forth, inside the larger station structure. The rest of the interior of the building could barely hold three people, in addition to its standing refrigerators full of beverages. I was pleased to see that the clerk was reading a physics textbook. Indicating, at the very least, that the young man was smart enough to be in college and probably more susceptible to reasoning than the old Asian lady had been.

This time Solana joined me in entering. The two of us endeavored to make ourselves look as pathetic as possible, a very simple task at that point. I asked the attendant, "Could you, please, call the police. My… associates and I are victims of a crime."

I saw no need to go into any details with the stranger in the gas station. However, I did want to plant the idea that we were not the criminals in his head. Especially, since when the lad had looked up, he almost jumped back at the sight of our little gang.

"Uh…" I had never seen a black man as nervous as this lad and he was behind ballistic panels. Of course, Solanna was next to me and the clerk may have thought she was dying, from her appearance, he eventually concluded, "um, yeah dude, sure. I call the police, that's a good idea."

The clerk pulled out a device that turned out to be a cell phone and made the call. I had never seen a cell like it before though, there were no buttons, just a screen that he worked by touch. Again my racing mind pushed forward the facts that if a phone like that existed and was affordable to a student that had to work a night shift, then technology was clearly more advanced than 2004. I clung to the theory that the tech could not have advanced that much in just seven years, and therefore was just more of my hallucinating. I had to ignore my mind's own examples of how much computers had changed from when I was thirteen back in '97 to when I had switch majors after my freshman year of college.

In the meantime, outside of the small service building, Gerri, Ken, and Leroy sat on the small curb on the side of the structure, while Hank stood like a super hero before them, cradling his mighty fire extinguisher. Ken and Gerri sat hunched forward and side-by-side passing the now open Tangle Ridge between themselves. Leroy leaned back against the glass and may well have been catching little catnaps. When Solana and I rejoined the others to share our news of success, the large black man remained stoically uncommunicative, although we would come to realize that was simply his way, so he may have been awake for all I could tell.

Hank was talking to the drinkers, "It won't help our case with the cops." He said. Of course this was from a man dressed as an escaped mental patient and carrying around a fire extinguisher for quote-protection-end-quote.

Solana just cut into the conversation and announced that the police were on their way. Both ken and Gerri still had pinched eyebrow and sour expressions from dealing with the liquor store clerk. So, Solana may have been trying to head off an argument.

I had been caught up in something I had seen. However, Solana's interjection and my own musing were set aside, because Geri jumped up and pointed to the patch of trees and scrub behind the stations little building. The hounds had arrived; they amassed without sound in the woodland-like underbrush, only their eyes could be seen. Eyes afoot or more above the ground and reflecting red light. It seemed like more light shining from those dozens of eyes than was available in the environment.

We all moved with caution to the front of the building, Solana and I going so far as to re-enter the mini-store. After only a moment, Gerri came in, grabbed a couple of beef jerky sticks out of a plastic bucket that was on the tiny shelf on our sire of the reinforced glass, said "sorry", and went back out and around the side of the building.

When the militaristically inclined woman returned to the front of the station, I cracked the door open enough to be able to hear what she had to say.

The pink had drained from Gerri's face and her bright green eyes seemed more unsettled than before. "There's something wrong with those dogs."

"What do you mean?" Ken's dry voice asked clinically.

"I figured I could see what they were like." Gerri replied. "I stayed in the light and tossed a piece of jerky outside the pool of light, but away from the trees. Then a hunting hound, maybe greyhound mixed with a heavier breed, came out." She swallowed hard and glances to the side where the dog had been. "It must have been the alpha male, 'cause when the others went to follow him, he gave them a look and bared his teeth as if he was growling, but no sound came out. Then none of the others left the wood cover." Gerri hugged herself and started rubbing her biceps. "The alpha moved to the jerky and was looking around, like it was checking to make sure it was not in site of the clerk or any of the security cameras…" She nodded to the respective locations. "If that's even possible. Anyway, it gets to the jerky, sniffed the treat, stared at me—and I mean right into my eyes—then urinated on the jerky."

"The thing is," Gerri got quieter, "I got the feeling it knew exactly what it was doing. Not like a trick or something, more like it was challenging me."

So, if I was actually crazy, then at least I was not the only one… Not a comforting thought. Either Hank or Ken—I could not tell which from inside the BP—tried to reassure Gerri, and the rest of us, by claiming she was over-tired. I do not think any of us found it very comforting and we all fell silent waiting for the police to arrive.

After about fifteen very long minutes, a patrol car did pull into the oasis of bright light. One officer was at the wheel and a man was in the back seat. No further sound or movement had been witnessed from the hounds, yet I am sure we all believed that they were still lurking nearby.

The officer remained on the far side of his car and made Hank relinquish his extinguisher. Hank complied, but looked very sad. Then the uniformed man had us all stand with our hands on his vehicle, while he got the clerk's statement. I know I probably would have refused to comply, if the cop had not parked well within the BP's light pool. I would rather have been forced into the cars trunk, than stand around in the dark with those dogs out there.

As it was, I only regretted not being allowed to sit inside the locked car to wait. I regretted it a little less when we got a look at the Guy already seated there. He was naked, except for a police blanket. I think it was Gerri or Hank who recognized the guy from the Kendal check in lines yesterday (at least I was still thinking of it as yesterday). We chatted quietly with the guy, while the officer was occupied with the clerk. His name was Kyle.

Kyle was maybe five foot ten, with short, straight, mousy brown hair. He had a short mustache and beard and seemed fairly hirsute in general. He was in his early thirties. Other than the hair, he seemed to have a swimmers build. Disturbingly, the guy also seemed to have long cat-like whiskers jutting from either side of his nose and little rounded tufty ears.

It made me wonder why the old woman, gas station clerk, and policeman had all just looked like normal people. Could hallucinations be that selective? And why would Kyle get the same treatment. The hairy man sort of answered my last internal question when he started talking to Hank.

The officer had left the driver's door open, so those of us on that side of the vehicle could converse fairly easily with the passenger.

Kyle's manner of speaking took some getting used to as he told us his brief tale. The man seemed to be grinding and gargling his words as they tried to escape his mouth. "Yeah, rrrgh I was urrm at Kendal, yesterrrrday, rriRoom 105. Day irmph seemed normal rrerr unough, at rrr least, ir rrurrg was like urr we wererere told to expect. Ghrr we all hrrmph went to rrr bed arrround the irph same time. Rrr Then I woke rrorgh up on the rrrriver bank, errrrr cold and urr naked." He gestured to the police issued wooly blanket.

"I rrr picked myself urgrr up and rrurr headed towarrrrds the nearererest buildings with rrr lights. I mrrph made it rrr to a suburrrb. I was ghrrh trying to rrur think what to rrrergh do next, rrr when officererer Kovacs," he nodded to the policeman talking to the clerk, "rrghph picked me up. Irrm that was rrr about five minutes beforererere he got urrgh the call to rrr come hererere."

I was able to look into the cruiser without moving my hands and according to the clock on the dashboard; it was close to 5:00 am. I still was not sure if it was Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, 2004, or 2011. At least having a sense of the time of day, afforded me some stabile point of reference from which to build upon. I middle-aged man did pull up and deliver new newspapers, though, then headed over to the liquor store to do the same. So, if we had read the date on the earlier papers correctly, then it was somehow Tuesday November 8th 2011.

Eventually, Kovacs finished with the clerk and resolved to take us into custody; charged us with being a public nuisance and vagrancy. Apparently, the clerk had not wanted to deal with pressing petty theft charges against Gerri. I was almost elated as I imagined that the result would be getting us to a holding cell while we contacted our families to settle any fines. I did not relish having to pay my parents back, however the terrible nightmare I had been living seemed like it might be close to an end.

I have since learned to avoid such ominous thoughts. I am not certain they affect my future, however I never feel quite as bad when things get worse than when I had imagined them getting better.

Officer K called a paddy wagon, rather than trying to jam seven of us into his patrol car. By the time the new vehicle arrived and we all got loaded in (Kyle as well), it was after 5:30. I had spent the time fairly zoned out. Having an armed police officer nearby had afforded me enough sense of security that what little adrenalin I had left tapered off dramatically and I mostly just concentrated on staying upright and awake. Although, I would have preferred Officer Kovacs had paid more attention to our surroundings than to us.

The back of the police van had hard benches, smelled of old vomit and urine, and was poorly heated, yet it was a chance to sit, taking us away from the hound pack, and still warmer than being outside. Do to our sickly appearances (some more than other) the police had to take us to be examined by a physician and given clean bills of health before we could be incarcerated. It was after 6:00 am by the time we were unloaded and escorted into O'Bleness Memorial Hospital and the sky had started to lighten.


	2. Chapter 2

Day1: Tuesday, November 8th (Most Grueling Day Ever)

The seven of us were shuffled into a second floor examination room. However, I did have a minute or so to appreciate a little of the sun rising over the other building in town, while I waited on the hospital's black-top for my fellow vagrants to be off loaded from the police vehicle. I found the sheer normalcy of knowing the time of day and having the sun rise appropriately disproportionately reassuring, like part of me did not believe it would happen somehow. I found the police and their vehicles similarly comforting, even though they were not being exactly kind, also the solid physical facts of the newspapers, in spite of their confusing dates. Cars, traffic, macadam, the hospital, nurses, pretty much every new mundane thing I saw seemed to make me feel more grounded.

I think my companions felt the same. Or, at least, without feeling abandoned and in some amount of danger, the lot of us could allow our aches and fatigue to take up more of our actions.

Our first nurse, a no-nonsense-looking black man, led the two officers that ushered us, into a large, unoccupied, multi-person exam room. As a teaching hospital this was one of O'Bleness's rooms where student nurses could meet as a class and practice on new patients, while still being overseen by only one instructor. The two cops watched as our escort nurse pulled out a couple of boxes from a closet, he informed us they were fresh scrubs, sponges, and extra towels. Then that nurse left to start the process of wrangling a doctor and the officers took up a post as sentries in the hall on the other side of the room's swinging double doors.

The room was large enough to fit our septet and then some, standing mostly. There were three padded examination tables with privacy curtains, and a couple of chairs, yet no other places to sit. There were counters and cupboards, including three sinks, however most of the doors were locked. Other than the new clothes and washing supplies the nurse had provided, we also had access to a few Ace-bandages, cotton balls, a few bed-pans, and a jar of tongue depressors.

"So, why're we here?" Solana leaned heavily on one of the exam tables. She had started to look even more sickly by the time we arrived at the hospital and had apparently been paying even less attention than me.

"They," Hank stood with his thick arms crossed near the doors and nodded to indicate the police, "say we have to be checked out for any preexisting wounds or illnesses. Then they'll transfer us to the precinct to process the vagrancy charges." He glowered at me, like it was my fault.

I did not care. I was about to receive medical attention and eventually I would be able to call my folks, all with armed guards. I was more than willing to wait through the bureaucratic red tape.

"Unless," Gerri had moved to lean back on the same table as Solana, "the doctor decides we're mentally unfit in some way." She gave a little shrug that forced me to try and not think about her lack of bra. "I kind of got the feeling they are hoping that happens."

Hank nodded, "Yeah If we're classified as unstable, then the cops can give us to a psych center and be done with us. Way less paperwork for them."

I was still having a hard time thinking clearly, so I could not quite reason my way through which option I would prefer, a couple of days in police custody and fines, or the hassles of proving sanity once the city had me committed. I had heard bad stories about the latter, but they were probably exaggerated. Not that either way ultimately mattered.

Other than Solana, Ken looked the most weary of us, however he was the first to start cleaning up. the tall, badly weathered man grabbed a set of scrubs, a couple of sponges, a wad of paper towels, and two bed pans. Ken filled one of the bed pans with water from a sink, then carried all of his supplies to the farthest examination table and drew the curtain around it. After about half a minute the rest of us heard water gently sloshing, then a few seconds later the sprinkle of presumably dirty water being squeezed into the empty pan.

Gerri grabbed up a enough clothes for two and repeated Ken's other prep, then separated herself and Solana behind another curtain. It was clear that the blond woman was to ill and weak to handle all of her own freshening up, so Gerri had just taken it on herself to help them both.

While there was one more examination bay, between the two in use, the rest of us silently decided it would be too cumbersome to use it and not accidently spill into either of the others. So, I started in on washing off what I could without disrobing directly in front of one of the sinks. Kyle and Leroy followed suit, while Hank waited patiently. Having access to the running water help speed the process along quite a bit, so when Ken did finish up, the rest of us took far less time with our turns behind the curtain.

As I scrubbed my face and neck before the small mirror over the sink I had… well, not an epiphany or revelation precisely. It was more like my vision snapped into focus. Maybe the sharp smell of the hospital's cleaning gel-soap woke me up a bit more, or the chance to relax, or the feelings of being grounded, or I just could not fool myself about the distortions I saw being caused by dirt and bad lighting anymore, or maybe it was all of those things. Certainly the grime was relentlessly bright. Probably though, the other reflections were the most jarring.

Consciously, it was when I first recall really seeing my image, especially the alterations that the others had not mentioned to me. I was richly tanned, my skin almost glowed golden—even under the harsh florescent lights. I had never been able to tan so well and usually looked quite pale from sitting indoors and reading so much. My once brown irises now looked like dark golden-orange amber, as if actual rings of amber gemstones had been inset into my eyes. My ears had become pointed, even to my touch they felt tapered to peeked tips, just long enough to poke through my shoulder length hair. My hair, which had been frizzy, limp and unmanageable only a day ago, was the same length as before only much lighter brown, streaked with stripes of bright and natural-looking blond, and curly-wavy-lustrous to a point that I almost wondered if the mirror was showing me a shampoo commercial.

Of course, I also only felt like it had been one day. All other evidence so far had claimed it had been seven years. Yet, instead of looking older, even a little bit, I looked younger. I was even shorter, as all had observed earlier. Even the weather damage I got last year… or, the summer of 2003, whenever that had been. As well as the acne scars from ages fifteen to seventeen were gone. My skin was smooth and perfect, as if a well bronzed thirteen year old me had been stretched onto my seventeen year old frame. I had gained my last two inches since high-school graduation and I experienced a flash of panic that I would have to go through the last spurt of growing pains again.

All of this sped through my mind at lightning speeds as I stared into the mirror. Including that as I watched my jewel-like irises shifted to a more yellow-y color with my pleasure at looking so great, then almost red at the unpleasant memory of growing pains. And then I registered the thing that my peripheral vision had been trying to show me.

Hank, by the door, and Kyle at the sink next to me. I could not see either man fully in the reflection, however what I did see was clearly the them that they should be. Kyle was far less hirsute and lacked any muscle tone, let alone a professional swimmer's physique. Hank was the kicker, though, because I saw little details that I had forgotten, yet were correct as soon as I saw them again; his nose had an odd crook that made him look even more manly, for instance. Hanks' own tan was back in the mirror (mine was better), his muscles looked smooth and well defined even under the rags and dirt he was waiting to divest.

I looked around at my companions then back to the mirror; it remained the same, in the mirror, normal people, otherwise strange Halloween versions of themselves. Hank looked even more like he was made of rough form reddish-orange clay, I even noticed distinctly yellower bands around his neck and wrists. Kyle looked like he had come from the Isle of Doctor Moreau, like a half-man-half-rounded-eared-cat… no, an otter! That was absolutely it; Kyle looked half otter.

My mind reeled yet again. I still tried to apply my drugged up and hallucinating theory to what I saw, but my grip on it was crumbling. If I only saw people from the Kendal study as transformed and they me, then that made some sort of sense. If seeing all of us in mirrors showed are original true appearances, then it was bizarre, yet still followed some consistency. Which is how I was sure that minds worked. However, mirrors showing me as others described my altered form, yet everyone else as they had appeared, made no sense with any of the theories with which I had come up. Especial, with Kyle, a man I had not seen before the Kendal people messed with us.

Maybe that was it, maybe my mind was adding details in the mirrors that were not real. Maybe Hank's nose was not crooked and I only told myself that I remembered it that way and I was making up Kyle whole cloth. First I moved around to get a look at Kyle and Leroy in their own mirrors, Ken happened to open his curtain about then and I saw him as well. In the looking glasses they all looked as I recalled and they were all looking at me as if I was acting odd for the way I was walking around and staring at them in mirrors..

Then I asked, "Hank, um, how would you describe your face looked before you came to Kendal?"

The muscled fireman shrugged, "decent looking square jaw, strong cheekbones. My nose is a little crooked from when I broke it breaking up a bar fight in college, but I think it helps my look over all." He crossed his arms over his expansive chest. "Why?"

"One sec." I made a patting gesture and faced our hairiest member. "Kyle, how would you describe your looks before Kendal?"

Kyle described, in his word-churning manner, the podgy computer programmer that I saw in the mirror. By then Leroy and Ken had caught on and were checking everyone out in the mirrors. Gerri asked what was going on from behind her partition.

"The mirrors show me each of your old looks." I replied. "but still show me what you described me to look like now."

The others fascinated at the various reflections, verifying that each saw themselves as altered with me and the others as we had been. As they mused aloud and silently about what it might mean, I dumped and refilled the bedpans Ken had used and took a new set of scrubs behind that curtain. None of the speculation I heard was any different than I had already considered. Then as I sponged off the parts of me that had been covered, I discovered several scars on my back, It was hard to get a good angle to see, especially using the bottom of the mostly empty bedpan, however the scars were there and looked well healed and pale with age on my now tan skin.—and I was tan all over. The worst scar ran from my lower back and most of the length of my left thigh and seemed like the wound must have been deep and jagged whenever it happened. I wondered how I could possibly forget such a gash. Then I wondered if I wanted to remember something that must have been excruciating.

At last I finished, feeling much cleaner and in fresh undamaged scrubs. I even had new non-skid slipper-socks to warm my numb feet.

By the time I had cleaned and changed the woman had emerged from their partitions. Leroy took their place and Hank took mine. Gerri had actually gotten Solana up on the middle exam table to lie back as comfortable as possible.

I mentioned my scarring to the group and the men all started checking themselves, as they had access to a private space. Gerri said, "I'm fine, but..." and she looked to Solana.

The blond woman looked terrible, she seemed emaciated, her skin almost translucent and pasty, her once golden and wavy hair gone chalk white and jagged like a bird's nest. Solana opened her eyes, their color faded to dusty grey, and she nodded some sort of permission to the other lady.

"Okay then," Gerri went on, "I'm fine, but Solana has tattoos that she doesn't know anything about. They look like some sort of Arabic writing and they run along both sides of her spine." She touched the pale girls hand gently. "That close to the bone must have hurt and all down the back must have taken a long time. But she can't remember anything about it."

I had been checking the women's reflected selves. Solana's imaged looked tired, yet otherwise as I had remembered her, curvy, golden tresses, cornflower blue eyes. Gerri's figure was bombshell perfect in both mirror and out; although out everything was a little more firm and perky, as if, like me she had somehow grown younger. The effect was exacerbated, I realized, because her mirror image looked closer to thirty, rather than the twenty-two she had claimed to be during our gathering around the folding table at Kendal. The athletic woman's hair had changed from mousy brown to glossy auburn, her eyes were like emeralds around ebony set into pale ivory. Geri's pristine pale skin fairly glowed with vitality, in stark contrast to Solana's. Plus, the beauteous woman smelled like a bed of flowers and looked like she was wearing rose red lipstick and pale green eye-shadow.

"Hey, hold on." I asked with all the mounting bemusement I felt, "Gerri, are you wearing make-up?' I checked her reflection and it was as cosmetic free as the rest of us.

"What? No." The shapely lady was almost indignant as she stomped over to a mirror. After a few second of rubbing and then sponge wiping her mouth, cheeks, and eyelids, "I... I don't get it. Did someone tattoo make-up on me?... That is so creepy."

"Hey," Ken rasped and pointed at me, "What about you Tommy." He looked at my reflection in one of the looking glasses. "You weren't tan yesterday, were you?" It almost sounded like an accusation.

I pulled my head back slightly and blinked at the fencing instructor. "No, not as far as I know. I mean Hank was tan and now I see that I have a similar tan when I look in the mirror." I fanned my hand down the length of my body as if displaying the obvious. "You think the mysterious tattoo artist gave me an all over tan tattoo?"

"No." the older man rolled his eyes, which actually now looked metallic grey, "But your reflection is just as tan as the you I am looking at."

The others, except for Solana, rushed to check my reflection. Then there was another round of what does this mean? Speculation. I had no ideas so I stayed out of it. Instead, I tried to scrutinize the other people for any additional anomalies.

Leroy was another Moreau escapee, or maybe from the Planet of the Cat People—panther specifically. The now truly black-skinned man's eyes were bright greenish-yellow with slit pupils, on a face that had somehow widened, and pointed triangular ears, set higher up his head than normal. I watched those ears twitch and flex like an animal's. And where Leroy's reflection displayed an almost rotund man, the physique before me was far more like a linebacker, there was obviously some muscle but when he flexed or tensed it became Leroy was pure muscle.

In addition to the other changes I had already noticed in Hank, his skin the texture of pebbly cinder block, with his joints and edges like sharp corners. The fireman's hair also seemed more like a sandstone sculpture than actual hair.

Ken was thinner than his reflection, not as bad as Solana, yet stretched looking. The man's hazel eyes seemed more like steely grey washers around his pupils. It turned out that the swordsman had thin short scars all over his face and especially concentrated on his hands and forearms. Like the marks I had discovered on myself, Ken's looked very old and are the thing that most caused me to think of him as more aged as the facial scars created the appearance of wrinkles. Although the hand and arm criss-crossing network of scars were so extensive they seemed more like long gloves.

About then our group's musing were cut off by a groan from behind the last changing curtain. Kyle had sounded despondent. We asked if he was alright.

"rrr Well," the firru man grumbled, "not urr really… I, irrr, I have rrr a tail."

Kyle refused to show any of us, however he did claim that he now had a fussy vestigial tail. Added to his hairy body, ears, whiskers, and wide spaced little black eyes, only further reinforced his otter-y nature. As Kyle was clearly self conscious about this alteration, we stopped pestering him and moved to a new parlor game.

I had realized that there were a couple of weight/height measuring devices in the room, they were the old-school analog types. I asked the larger men to move one to be visible in a mirror. My height disparity had been nagging me even more, once I started to disbelieve my own hallucination theories. Sure enough, looking right at the scale I came up to just under five-foot-ten, while in the mirror—without me even moving a little bit—everyone else saw that the scale showed about six-foot even. In light of that new oddity, I just staggered off the scale and stood there trying to shift the new puzzle pieces into some sort of relation, while the rest of my party took their turns on the measurement device. Leroy, Hank, and Ken all displayed taller than their original heights by roughly two inches each, making them six-six-and –a-half, six-five, and six-four respectively. Kyle had shrunk by as much, placing him just below my new height. Gerri had shrank by a fraction of an inch, leaving her just shy of –five-foot-three. Solana had been too weak to bother testing herself, however she seemed to be the same height as Gerri which was shorter for her by a couple of inches.

Sadly, rather than deducing anything useful during that process, I only noticed another set of questionable sensations. I walked over to Solana just to test the last person in our group, shivered, then turned to everyone to, yet again, ask if any of them perceived what I had. Only before I could speak the double doors swung open and a nurse entered.

"Okay everyone…" this nurse was a tired looking bottle-blond (in need of a touch up) and she paused when she saw the scale in the middle of the room. After glancing around seriously, she continued. "I see you have all cleaned up, that is good. We are going to need to get some preliminary information before the doctor comes in. Are there any questions?" She had started moving to one of the locked cabinets.

"Not really a question." Gerri raised her hand with only her elbow. "But our friend seems pretty sick.' Her deep-red locks bounced as she nodded towards were Solana lay.

The nurse almost startled, as if she had not seen the almost corpse-like woman on the middle exam table. The nursed stepped over to Solana felt the sick ladies forehead and throat, then asked, "When was the last time she ate?'

Solana's brows furrowed indignantly, however before she could snap her own reply, Geri said, "We don't know for sure. None of us have eaten for at least twelve hours, though."

"Typical." Our new nurse said with some exasperation, apparently toward her fellow health workers. "I'll be right back with something for everyone." And she exited the room.

I noticed that one of our police guards had been peering through the little square window in one of the swinging doors. When the nurse departed, the cop seemed to lose interest in our room again.

"That was interesting." Ken rubbed a scarred knuckle back and forth along his lower lip, as soon as the door had closed. "She acted like Solana just looked tired, like her mirror image."

"Yeah, well," I pointed out, waving my open palm in a gesture to indicate the whole rest of the world outside that room, "we all think we look pretty weird, but no-one else seems to. Not the old lady, not the BP clerk, and certainly not the cops or nurses, who I would expect to be fairly observant."

"Maybe it's high-tech contacts?" Hank said, then went to a mirror and gently poked his eye, to no effect.

"Except, it's not just visual, is it? In addition to hank's weird skin texture and my own pointy ears," I referred to my revelation just before the fake-blond nurse had entered, "I've been noticing odd smells and sounds too. And the thing is, they seem pretty consistent to you guys." I flapped my hand back and forth to indicate no one individual.

"Like Gerri's flower smell." Solana spoke with some effort.

Gerri emerald eyes widen, while I touched my nose with one hand and pointed to the invalid with my other.

"I thought that was just nice perfume." Hank said returning his attention away from the mirror.

"I'm not wearing perfume." Gerri sounded half way between defensive and defiant.

"None rrr of us rrerrgh could be, aftererer the spinge umph baths." Kyle nodded.

"Nor are you technically wearing make-up." I added. "Except she's not the only one." I pointed to Ken, then Hank. "You smell like damp leaves. And you like a campfire."

"Well," Hank cocked his head in a half shrug, "smelling like smoke is an occupational hazard for a fireman."

"Except," Gerri held her left elbow in her right hand while she tugged at her auburn tresses with the left hand, "you did not smell like smoke yesterday… or whenever that was."

"Yeah, that's right." Solana confirmed tiredly. "You smelled like Stetson cologne. I remember because I don't usually like that one, but you pulled it off."

"And," I jumped back in, "odors tend to linger a little, but with each of you the smells disappear as soon as you're a few feet away." I gestured to Kyle and Leroy to keep everyone's attention. "Then, there's these two. I get near Kyle and I swear that I can hear running water, like a stream in the distance. And Leroy… well it's more subtle, like a whispering shooshing sound…"

"Like snow, or sleet, falling on ice." Gerri was nodding slowly.

I snapped my fingers and did the nose-tap-point to the shapely girl as I nodded and stepped towards Solana. "And every time I get near our unhealthy companion, I get a tingly-chill feeling all down my back."

Everyone had been a little surprised at whatever odd thing they had been associated with, except Solana, who actually grinned a little. Then another round of what-does-this-mean rippled around the room to no avail. It was pointed out that I did not seem to have any unusual aura or field or whatever. I could not help but feel a little left out, however I did not say so. Mass hallucination brought on by chemicals and reinforced by hypnotic suggestion remained our most likely option, yet we still had no believable suggestion for Kendal's motives to that end. Unless you count Hank's, "Scientists are always just experimenting with stuff."

Our little collective had participated in so many variations of the general topic of "what the hell?" in just the last few hours that we had all become fairly complacent. Also everyone else seemed to be catching up with my own sense of calm that had been coming with real things like nurses, sinks, furniture, and so forth. So, eventually, it occurred to someone that we had families that might be worried about us, or maybe even be able to help sooner than our Athens PD escort intended.

The room only had one wall mounted phone by the door and Gerri got to it first. Standard dial 9 for an outside line and the pretty lady called her brother. The call did not go well.

"Hi, John," Gerri spoke quietly to avoid drawing the police sentry's attentions, as well as with a controlled relief in her voice, "it's Gerri. Sorry it's so early…" Gerri paused to listen, then said, "I don't know how they are. I'm in Athens."

Pause, while Gerri listened.

"Athens, Ohio," Gerri snapped a little, her relief turned to frustration. "How the hell would I get to Greece?"

Pause.

"I'm in the hospital here, the police picked me up for vagrancy…"

Short pause.

"What medication?"

Longer pause.

"What does that mean, John? You think I live with mom and dad?"

Gerri was getting more and more flustered; as she listened to her brother, apparently he talked to her like she needed constant parental supervision. Hank, Ken, and I seemed to be the only ones paying attention to Geri's situation. Although, I felt like I was the only one who saw how badly Geri's call was going and that included her own observations.

I also thought I saw one of the cop's heads twitch on the other side of the little window, as Gerri's voice started to raise.

I took the phone from the somewhat stunned woman and spoke as relaxed and good naturedly as I could muster. "Excuse me," I made up a name and pretended to be a doctor. "I am Dr. White. To whom am I speaking?"

John gave me his full name and identified himself as Gerri's older brother. In the interest of Gerri and John's safety, I will not share the specifics of his identity. John apologized, "We're sorry about this Doc. My folks are supposed to be watching her. As far as I know Gerri hasn't had an episode like this for four or five years."

My mind raced. I knew I could not pull off being a fake doctor under much scrutiny and that talking to John was only causing Gerri to have more questions and no answers. Based on what John had said their parents lived within six hours of Athens and he was much farther. I decided to try and turn the situation around a little.

"I see," I said, "well, Gerri is without any identification. So, we were not certain if she was telling the truth. From what you're saying, it seems she is indeed your sister." I had to consciously keep myself from talking too fast. "We would be happy to keep her here, until someone can come with the correct identification. Perhaps you can contact your parents and have them contact us?"

John agreed and, more to himself than me, commented on how much their folks were not going to like the drive. We hung up.

I silently thanked my luck that John had not thought to ask me for a phone number, or any other relevant hospital data. I also started to wonder about my own folks, up in 'Cinci. Before I got too distracted I turned to the pretty redhead.

"You seemed to be going around in circles." I said apologetically.

"Yeah," Geri nodded, her sparkling eyes half lidded in thought, "I didn't want to have to get my parents involved… but, this is probably for the best."

I stepped to the side and mentally crossed my fingers for the curvaceous Officer in Training. By then, something had convinced me that brother John would call their folks and they would say that their daughter was right there with them. My strained and tired thoughts had latched on to the idea that Kendal had messed with our minds, giving us false memories. Memories based on other real people, which would mean that my group must have the fake memories. That allowed me to explain why we all looked different than we expected and could justify the seven year time slip. If the real donors provided memories in 2004, it may have taken Kendal seven years to implant us successfully… But, then what's the deal with the mirrors? And why should some of us look so inhuman? My head started to hurt again.

Meanwhile, Leroy had taken over the phone and made an even more hushed phone call than had Gerri. The remarkably stoic cat-man never chose to share whom he called or what was discussed.

Then the no-nonsense bottle-blond nurse returned with a tray of snacks, so no-one else had a chance at the phone. The nurse let us serve ourselves—juices (apple or orange), granola bars, and Chips-A-Hoy cookies—while she carried a saline bag over to Solana.

The six of us around the snacks were all fairly ravenous, so we were all focused on the tray of sugary treats. The next thing we knew was the nurse was collapsing on her patient and Solana was looking awake and a little blissed out. The grey of Solana's irises had darkened and widened to almost fill her unfocussed eyes, like she just had giant pupils.

Gerri and Ken rushed over and pulled the nurse away, sitting her on a nearby chair. Solana was grabbing the healthcare worker around each wrist and did not want to let go. When the nurse was finally pulled beyond the pale lady's reach, we all saw little suckling-mouths in Solana's outstretched palms. The mouths seemed full size and smacked their thin lips briefly at the air, then closed and vanished completely. Solana looked much healthier and livelier, her cheeks had filled out a little, her skin seemed less translucent, and she sat up easily, . When those hand maws disappeared, the Lit major blinked once her large black eyes and visibly resisted moving towards the nurse for more.

I had been surprised that Hank had not stepped in as a trained rescue worker. When I checked, I saw that the large orange-y man had been farthest away. Then he realized Gerri and Ken were doing fine and he took a position near the door. I vaguely wondered if he had planned to call the police or accost them if they came busting in.

"She's just passed out." Gerri confirmed after a few moments checking the nurse's vital signs, "She's breathing steady and I can't find any wounds or marks."

So, the fencing teacher and ROTC student made the unconscious lady as comfortable as possible, in the chair they had placed her. Solana looked more pleased than relieved at the news that no marks had been found.

That was the event that solidified my resolve to flee the group as soon as I possibly could. I still could not decide what I thought was the most true reality… what really happened to us that is. Every time I tried, two or more of the others would start saying or doing something that kept me from being able to think straight. I had even forgotten about being in police custody at that point. Plus, I had mostly resolved that all of the weirdness was just in my head, like a sort of Total Recall/Bourne Identity mash up—without the cool spy powers. Which meant that everyone else were aspects of my subconscious self getting in my own way. Thus, the best way to handle the distractions, to my thinking, was to get away from everyone else and work on some logistic and reasoning problems. If I was wrong, then as least I would still be away from the crazy creepy people and able to start working on reestablishing my life.

Then just as the others were trying to decide if they should get the cop's attention to help the nurse (and thus reminding me ducking out would not be so simple), a woman strode in. The lady seemed older, like late forties or early fifties, yet well preserved. She was tiny, maybe not technically qualified as a little person, yet close as she could get. The ultra-petite woman carried a large stack of books on her back, bound with a leather belt and her large round thick spectacles gave her a bug-like appearance. She also had a web-work of scars along most of the right side of her face, possibly from chemical burns. What made the lady seem most similar to us was her long-pointed ears, her glossy black hair in a tight bun had a distinct indigo sheen, and her clothing seemed in good condition, suitable for travel such as hiking, and about 150 years out of date.

Two men followed in close at the strange woman's heels. One man looked even older than the lady and had exceptionally loose-wrinkly skin, as if he had lost a couple of hundred pounds in just a few months. The other guy looked young, maybe late teen, and had white poofy hair. Both men wore our team's uniform, Kendal scrubs—muddy and tattered.

I was incredibly tired, anxious, frustrated, and confused by that point, so my recollection is fairly jumbled as to what happened when. I know that at some point Kyle vouched that the two knew men had been in his room at Kendal.

Mike's hair was not just white and fluffy, it was a cloud or mist and floated lazily, independent of gravity or any air in the room. Mike had ears as elfin as my own, although his skin was milky pale, except for his elbow, knees, palms and feet which were all stained green as if by grass. The grass stains did not wash away, so they were probably tattoos like Gerri's cosmetics. At some point the two new guy's cleaned up as the rest of us had and been clued into the mirror and the scale discoveries we had made. Thus, Mike found out that while he had been five-foot-ten his new stature was only five-seven. Also, in the reflection, the rest of us saw a man in his late twenties with stringy blond hair, instead of his lithe green-stained body, he seemed a little overweight and a lot under exercised. Plus, he was the only other of us that had no weird sound, smell , or feeling surrounding him.

I remember feeling oddly slighted that I was no longer the special one, with no aura. Which in turn made me conflicted, as I had not really wanted an aura until then for some reason.

Milton, on the other hand, did have the odd aroma of fresh April rains showers, which I felt was very incongruence to his appearance. In addition to the man's saggy flesh, he seemed extremely windblown and had severe burn scars over most of the left side of his body, including his face and he limped as if the muscles underneath had never quite healed. Milton's fingers had become at least an inch longer and thinner than his mirror self and he was another person that measured about two inches short at five-foot-eight. Although, Milt's generic dull-brown hair and scruffy five o'clock shadow remained the same in both versions that we saw. Otherwise, the man's reflection looked like a fifty-something year old, of average build and no muscle tone.

I know I heard Mike claim to be a computer programmer. I suspected the man meant Computer Programming Major, if he was being honest at all. Because everyone's mirror images had looked consistently older they we had been when we joined Kendal, Mike would have been barely older than myself after I adjusted for the age deference. While Milton claimed to have been a local private investigator, looking into Dr. Anwynn for suspicious practices. Which I hoped at the time was true, however suspected over time may have been an exaggeration, because who is really a private investigator—I mean, really.

Meanwhile, as introductions and note comparisons were taking place, the lady none of us recognized tried to conductor her business. As I look back, I realize that I had not looked at the librarian-esque lady in the mirror and wonder if that was by her own design, or merely my distractedness.

My first thought had been that the lady worked with the police, however Milton had explained at some point or other. "We were following her." His voice was flat and gruff. "She walked all no-nonsense right up to the cops out there," the man's excess cheek and neck skin wobbled as he nodded to the doors, "then just spit in their eyes. She barely even slowed down and got 'em both on the first two shots, before they could blink." He shook his head with a slow baffled respect. "Then the cops just resumed their posts, not even noticing us."

I considered checking to see if the officers were still truly oblivious and bolting if they were. However, by then the lady was talking about compensating us. So, I stayed a little while longer.

The tiny woman had entered, crossed directly to the clear counter space and started unpacking some of her books. One of my associates had asked her name and by way of introduction the lady handed out business cards. Actually, the card was more of a card of introduction, like Victorian socialites once used.

Ms. Inca Alstroemeria

Archivist, Specialty Accounts Alchemical

Then, spontaneously and apparently in unison many of those present decided that Ms. Alstroemeria must have all of the answers. At least half the group started barraging the weary looking Ms. A with the various questions that had been plaguing us. "What happened to us?" "Who did this?" "Why?" "What was the point?" "Where is our stuff?" "What happened to our lives?" "Why can't we remember the last seven years?" "Why do we look different?" and on and on. I was dumbfounded, often one questioner would start talking before the last had finished and no one seemed to be doing any listening. I can only speculate that fatigue and stress had caused a super-mild mass hysteria.

All the while, Inca Alstroemeria, in a very business-like manner, moved to the counter, place down her books, unstrapped them, selected a couple of tomes, opened them to particular places, pulled a bottle of ink from a belt pack, and a large peacock feather quill from an inner jacket pocket, then waited for the commotion to calm down. The Archivist had not ignored the question bombardment as she set up her impromptu desk, unfortunately, her curt responses just tended to spark a new barrage of questions—sometimes related to her answers, sometimes not.

Ultimately, Ms. Alstroemeria's information boiled down to: "Each of you had agreed to service." Her voice was dry, although not stern or monotonous. "Now that the period of servitude is over, you are each entitled to payment. I am here to provide that remuneration."

When Alstroemeria said that I flashed back to Kendal and waiting in line before being assigned a room. At the front of each line, a nurse had sat at a desk and went over the rules of the study. Each participant then had to sign a contract. It had seemed pretty straight forward, liability waivers and emergency contact and the like.

At the time none of us had heard or seen anything unusual with the explanations or paperwork. I have since learned that it is very likely that we could only hear and see what the so called Doctor Anwynn and his servants wanted us to hear and see.

In one of her open books, bound masterfully in leather, Ms. A showed us each copies of the Kendal contracts that we signed. A more careful reading now, revealed some very disturbing legalese. Buried in the fine print, a significant section on participants service defined "…as the contractor sees fit." And "…during which the participant contractee's name shall be relinquished…" the worst of it all effectively summed up in the line, "The undersigned participant agrees to service for a period not to exceed 7 years and 7 days."

At the news bursts of outrage that the contracts elicited, Ms. Alstroemeria expressed her level of concern as, "You should have negotiated better contracts, if you had wanted to retain your possessions, appearances, time, or what had you."

"Wait a minute." Mike gained the room's attention for a moment. "Seven years and seven days? We signed the papers on October 30th, 2004." Alstroemeria nodded and he went on. "Well, these guys said that today is November 8th, 2011, which is Seven years and nine days…" He left his half accusation handing in the air.

The tiny scarred woman blinked one heavily magnified blink. "Firstly, the stated period is expressed as a minimum. Secondly, it is your own fault if it took you two day to find your ways back here after your contracts expired."

I had assumed Mike was just making up the day count, until the Alchemical Accountant seemed to accept his figures as accurate. Then I wondered if I should be impressed that the verdantly splotched man could make that calculation in his head, or be sympathetic because he might well be autistic or some similar savant prone form a mentally challenged.

As the hubbub resumed around that new revelation, I flashed on running with others through a thorny, tangled, and dark forest. If true, then my vision shed quite bit of light on why we were all so sore and scraped up.

Milton made a churlish request for the copy of his contract. "No," Ms. Alstroemeria snapped, "you may not have my copy of any of the contracts. You were given a copy at signing. You should have kept better track of it."

The woman was right, of course, we had been handed copies. Then the contracts were placed with all our other belongings into Rubbermaid totes and carted away.

Even so, the accountant alchemical may not have known any more details, but that is not how she seemed. Rather, either Inca did not want to tell us, or was not allowed. For all that, the very prim lady did not seem malicious—efficient, bureaucratic, put upon, yes, but not mean. Certainly the Ms. Alstroemeria was not one to suffer fools gladly and the people I was with absolutely were acting as fools in our naïveté.

Days later, it occurred to me that we might have paid Ms. Alstroemeria for more information. However, even at that point, it was hard to imagine giving back any of the precious money she had just doled out. The cash was the first tenuous line on a blueprint that might lead to rebuilding my demolished life.

I definitely did not like the information that Inca had just imparted, however it felt as true as any punch in the gut. So, I had to figure out what being gone for seven years (and one week, apparently) meant, what needed to be fixed, and how.

Our payment was the $1050 as promised in the original contract. Not fair for seven years work. I really felt that the contract had been obscured with so many lies, the least Anwynn could have done was lied about the payment amount in our favor. However, as the Archivist for Specialty Accounts Alchemical said, we should have negotiated better. Not knowing better at the time does not get you out of speeding tickets either.

I was first in line for the pay out. I had to sign Ms. Alstroemeria's other book, a receipt ledger. I checked extra careful for any fine print, first. Ms. A produced canvas belts with pouches tied to them as each person signed their receipts. Somehow the mysterious accountant kept producing the belts from the same satchel at her waist, with no discernible effort. Especially, impressive as our payment was completely in dollar coins (golden Sacagawea's).

I also felt that the larger on the inside nature of her pouch was impressive, as was pulling the long pristine peacock feather out of her tiny jacket pocket. However, I had reached my saturation point for impossible things. So, I just filed the information away to be amazed and confused later.

When someone asked about the metal tender, Ms. Alstroemeria replied, "Yes, the coin of this realm, the largest available denomination." She rolled her dark eyes behind the magnifying lenses of her glasses. "I am sure I do not know why that, if they are to mint with such tawdry alloys, then they limit to such small values."

As Ms. Alstroemeria's dealt with one of us at a time, that was when most of the other chatting and sharing must have occurred. As I said, I was very out of it throughout most of that encounter. I know I overheard most of the party generally agree that they would split into smaller groups, then meet the following morning at the IHOP across the street from O'Bleness, to compare notes further. Privately, I did not honestly think I would try to see any of them again. If any of what I was experiencing was truly real, then those other people represented way too many bad things in my life.

Also, it must have been around then that Milton had conveyed the tale of Inca spit-hypnotizing (spitnotizing?) our police guards at the door. For that is when I realized I could easily slip out and away. I left as Milton was completing his transaction with the Alchemical Accounts Specialist. Milt must have said something right since Ms. A was writing something on the back of one of her calling cards for him—more than the rest of us had been able to get, yet not nearly interesting enough to keep me from leaving.

I had cobbled together some semblance of reasoning in anticipation of my escape. I knew that hospital staff always needed to be in scrubs, so they must leave their day clothes somewhere. I know movies and TV often depicted doctors and nurses just living in scrubs, however in November I bet they had additional layers. I found an unoccupied employee locker room and slipped in. Then started looking through lockers, luckily most did not have locks on, even though they were in use. I located one compartment with pants and shoes that fit me well enough, along with a bulky down-coat. I left a couple rolls of coins (fifty of my precious dollars) and a note, on a piece of scrap paper I found in the room, saying "Sorry, really desperate. Thanks."

Once better dressed, I made sure to exit the hospital as far from where I had been escorted in. From there my first stop was research. I wanted to use one of the school's computer labs, however that was too far and I could not be sure they would let me in without ID. So, I aimed for the Athens Public Library. I was hoping to get a computer with internet access and maybe a quick nap at the terminal.

My fatigue and soreness kept coming at me in waves. Even so, I hoofed it. I chided myself for leaving so much money for the clothes, I might have considered a cab if I had kept more with me. As it was I might need more than the grand I had left for my plans. I did stop into a Burger King for a couple of sandwiches and coffee, though. It tasted worse than I remembered, but helped shore me up and avoid some of the exhaustion waves.

I learned a lot in short order at the library. Google had improved amazingly. Facebook was indispensible and online banking was very nice. Craig's List was exceptionally useful as well. I searched my name, hoping for a missing persons report. Instead I was led to Facebook. Where someone who looked like me—the original me—and using my name had nearly 300 friends. None of them seemed savory. I'm no straight edge or anything, but it seemed pretty clear the would-be me was very involved in drug culture. What must my family think? Plus, the guy even used my passwords. I saw that he had over a grand in my bank account. Way better than the two hundred I left there, but not close to enough to reimburse what Kendal had taken from me. How could I get access to it without ID? I didn't even have a debit card.

I was so far out the other end of tired, I could not even despair at my predicament. Nor could I get a proper rage going. I was mad and indignant, though, and those emotions burned somewhere deep within me. The fuel of my ire was just enough to keep me going.

I decided to set term-based goals. Tackle the short term, as many as possible as quickly as possible. Work on the details of the longer-term goals as I went. Preliminary research: bus schedules, laptops, cell phones, local computer access in evening (FedEx/Kinko's), cheap local motels, credit unions, wire transfers, Western Union, and local shopping.

I had always enjoyed researching. The process of discovering answers and the tangential knowledge that was often gained through simply following some interesting lead or link, had always been fulfilling. Now researching had also become grounding, helping me organize my thoughts and plans and making me feel that I was more connected with the world around me than I had since waking on the wrong bed in the wrong Kendal building.

I left the library long enough to get another unpleasant tasting fast food lunch, Arby's this time. As much as I found the researching and other common place activities soothing and stabilizing, I found the weather a bit unreal. By all accounts it was early November and the sky was clear and the temperature was in the mid-seventies. I told myself it must be an Indian Summer, even though I had never experienced one this late into the year. I actually felt a little foolish wearing the jacket I had stole…bought, however I felt a little conspicuous in just the scrub top. At least with all the walking I wound up having to do was as pleasant as possible.

I got my second or third wind and before the afternoon past, I picked up an ID. College towns always have a black market for fake IDs for the many underage drinkers cut loose from parental supervision. You better believe someone is making fake IDs for money. I had heard some rumors back before Kendal and some targeted searches did the rest. Illegal or not, forging is business and all businesses had adapted to the electronic media—Craig's List, in this case.

It cost two hundred dollars to get a fake Ohio drivers license in the name of Thomas White. If I wanted one in my real name, I could come back. Gary's placed reeked of pot and his eyes were very bloodshot just past noon, but he accepted the Sacagawea's, though, just saying "Whoa, that's a lot of coins dude."

I used my real birthday and my folks address in Cincinnati, on the ID. That way if questioned, I would not hesitate on those answers. The only thing that tripped me up a little was that the photo that Gary the forger took of me showed me as I had been, as the mirrors had showed me to the others. I double-checked with the forger to verify I looked to him like the picture. I think Gary thought I was as high as him, but he did confirm, "Totally, dude. Who else were you expecting it to look like? I mean, it'd be a pretty shitty ID if a bouncer looked down and didn't see your face."

The ID had gone so well that it gave me the confidence to push through a couple more of my short term goals. I swung over to the post office and leased a PO box for Tom White. Then stopped into Athens Federal Credit Union and opened an account, I was especially proud of this at the time. Since my ID said I was from Cinci, I had correctly anticipated the need for an Athens address and that the PO box would not be acceptable. So, I had practiced my story as I had been trudging from place to place, enough to make it believable.

As it turned out, "I am going to be a new student at the university in January. I just moved down from Cinci, here's my address (some near campus apartment). Normally, I would wait to open an account until I had a utility bill or something. But my granddad-he's kind of quirky—gave me this gift of a several hundred Sacagawea's. And honestly, I just don't trust my new roommates enough to leave the coins at home." I won't go so far as to say the teller ate it up, but she did buy it. I kept a couple of rolls, deposited a few hundred, and converted the rest to bills.

I then returned to the library to get some more research in before closing time. I found Hank and Leroy there, also using the computers for much the same reasons as had I. I had a spike of irritation that the two giants were copying me, before I realized they had no idea that I had already been there once. Then I had to help Hank with some basic net navigation and searching tips. I just could not bare to see the oddly rocky muscle man trying to ham-fist (perhaps brick-fist in his case) his way through another web page—it was like an insult to the art of research. Plus, the fireman always seemed so earnest and I knew he would help me, or anyone, if asked.

As the librarian came around to let us know the building was closing for the day, Hank clapped a heavy-hard hand on my back, "You bugged out pretty quick at O'Bleness. Did you hear that we were all going to meet up tomorrow morning at the IHOP?"

"Uh, oh really." I groped for a non-committal response. I was not really interested in seeing that gang again, yet I did not want to burn any bridges with the only people that knew what I was going through, "Uh, sounds cool."

Hank smiled, showing me teeth that looked like driveway gravel. "Most of us already stopped at Wal-Mart for clothes and supplies." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white-plastic flip phone. "Most of us got one of these pay-as-you-go jobs as well, let me give you my number, just in case."

I was surprised that I had been so in my own head, that I had missed that both Hank and Leroy were dressed in proper clothes. Then, I wondered if the generally social guy was intentionally dropping me a subtle hint. I had been planning to go shopping after dinner. Stores stay open later than post offices, credit unions, and libraries. Thoughts which led me to be startled as I realized how I looked when I had been in Athens Federal CU. My clever quirky-grandpa story may not have actually mattered, as the motherly teller may have just thought I was homeless and could use some pity.

I pulled out a piece of scrap paper and pencil nub that I had gotten from a librarian and jotted down Hank's digits. Then asked, "Hey, do you think I could borrow that right now for a quick call?"

Of course the jovial man-wall let me and I was especially grateful, as pay phones were practically nowhere to be found. I stepped a few feet further along the sidewalk for privacy, then dialed one of my few friends from Athens of seven years and nine days ago.

Jack's wife, Sarah, answered. She recognized my name and did not sound pleased to be hearing from me. And that was recognized, not remembered. I could only hope my doppelganger had not been around too recently. Jack was on Facebook and he was not a "friend" with the other me.

"Yeah, uh, so anyway," I tried to regain some conversational equilibrium, "is Jack home?"

"He's working." Sarah's cold tone and emphasis made it clear that she knew I was not working and she did not approve.

"I was hoping to talk to him in person." I said. "Could I come by this evening?"

There was a chilly pause. "We have to put the kids to bed after dinner and Jack needs to be asleep by ten." Again Sarah conveyed with tone alone that I was not to be at her home when her kids were awake. Jack had not even had kids when I knew him.

"That's okay, it won't take long." I pressed on, not knowing why, "I don't even need to come in or anything. I just need to talk to Jack for like fifteen or twenty minutes." I think I was sounding pretty desperate.

There was another stone cold pause, before she said, "Alright, I suppose you can come by around nine. I will let him know you called." Not 'I will tell him your coming' or 'to expect you' I noted.

I thanked her and hung up. I had wanted to meet Jack at home. I guessed he would be less businesslike and more likely to do an old friend a favor. In light of Sarah's attitude, I resolved to try and catch Jack at the dealership.

I thanked Hank for the phone use and hurried off before the big man could rope me into any actual commitments.

For an early dinner I tried a Wendy's; it was always a favorite growing up. Now it was just yucky. Not inedible, but nothing I would return to if I could avoid it. I was convinced that my negative reactions to food were another effect of my Kendal treatment. I guessed that Anwynn had chemically altered me so that only food he provided would taste normal. On the other hand, it had been most of a day and I was not feeling ill, so I could deal with bad taste as long as that is all that it was.

I added "find something tasty" to my mid-range goals. I dreaded the idea that I might have to drink blood through mouths in my hands. I shuddered at the memory of Solana feeding off the nurse. Every time the unpleasant thought re-emerged I would stare at my flexing palms for a while, to no effect, so I had some hope that I was extra orifice free.

I shopped at Old Navy for clothes and Target for underwear and sundries. I understood the desire the others had to shop cheaper, but I just knew I needed to look better than Wal-Mart's best. Old Navy might not be any different in quality of material, but it did have a slightly more respectable reputation—maybe not as much as I would have liked, but again, I was spending as much as I dared.

I came away with underwear, socks, a plain T, a pair of jeans, a belt, button down flannel shirt, a sweater, a pair of decent hiking boots, a durable coat (with big pockets), a hat, gloves, and a scarf. Also, a cheap pen and pencil set and a pocket notebook, everything in darker muted browns and blues. I changed into the new duds in the public restroom of a Starbuck's in the same strip mall. I kept all the used articles I had as well. No point in throwing away any resource.

I sprang for a buck-twenty-five bus ride, to avoid sweating through or otherwise soiling my new duds. If I could have driven I would have made my trip in under twenty minutes, as it was the public transport took close to an hour. At least I was able to catch a catnap on the way. The bus let me off a block from Schmidt Motors Ford Dealership, close to 6:00 pm. Jack Schmidt owned the place and he raced stock. Jack used to have a couple of cars for which I occasionally pit crewed. Jack had even been grooming me to drive one, someday.

I approached from the back way. I stashed my shopping bags behind the dumpsters next to the dealership. I wanted to look as little like a homeless guy as possible.

Jack had been a sturdy guy, just a little shorter than me and in his early thirties. With my new height Jack and I were evenly matched, in at least that regard. Now past forty, the businessman looked way more like a dad, still thickly built, but a little softer around his edges, his dark hair had hints of grey flecked throughout. Jack Schmidt still dressed in a crisp, tailored suit and tie for work, he favored medium grey. The car dealer had told me once that the grey made the color of any car he stood next to pop and seem more appealing.

When I found Jack on the sales floor, he looked surprised and wary to see me. When I asked to talk to him in private, the surprise vanished, the wariness doubled, and a certain amount of "this should be interesting" entered his body language. We went to his office, my heart sinking all the way there.

I had a story rehearsed, based on what I had guessed of my imposter. It centered around an addict girlfriend taking everything from me. It was to have been my bottoming out moment- the thing that turned me around. I Just needed a couple of days to get some money, then if Jack would sell me a good car cheap, I could drive back to Cincinnati and get straightened out—while staying with my folks. I figured that even if my one time friend smelled the lie, he might still give me a discount, since I was not actually asking for any more than that. Back when I knew him, Jack probably trusted and liked me enough to give me at least half price on anything.

My tale went un-spun. The life-long salesman, Mr. Schmidt, controlled the conversation. He verbally felt me out and sized me up. Although, I did also glean some information. Jack effectively confirmed that the Tom of the last seven years was an alcoholic and drug addict. Jack even asked if I had been in prison. My research had not been conclusive regarding my imposter's criminal record, so I decided that the other "me" might have been to jail and Jack would probably know. Rather than get caught out in a lie, I just answered "not recently."

When Jack got around to what I wanted and found out that I was not there for money, a job, or a free car, he relaxed a little. In the end my old friend agreed that I could buy a $1000 used 2002 Festiva for $600—as long as I had the money by Wednesday. It was not the best model I could have wanted. However, I was confident that Jack would not sell a lemon.

It all roughly came together as I had planned. I had thought I might need the credit union account, in case Jack needed to see some bank records, and the PO box if he wanted an address. Of course, that was before talking to the professional salesman and I had been confident that I could have pushed the PO box in lieu of a street address. Also, I had not thought about my name being fake on the CI account, so it is very good that Jack had not wanted any financials. I mentally kicked myself for wasting the time getting the account. Especially, because I could have bought my car right there and then, if I could have accessed what was in the credit union account.

On the other hand, I would then have needed to sleep in the car for I could not guess how long, as the expense would have tapped me out. Plus, that would also have meant minimal food for the foreseeable future. So, I stuck to my plan. I thanked Jack, said that I would see him by Wednesday, shook his hand, and left.

I felt a weird sort of tingle or throb when Jack and I shook hands, sort of all over, yet centered in my chest. The sensation was definitely not static electricity. Afterward, I felt a little more confident about the deal I had struck with the car seller, while also feeling more anxious to gather the money together sooner rather than later. It became one more inexplicable weirdness in my apparently ever growing pile.

I walked to the end of the block on the main sidewalk, then circled around for my stash. Then I took the bus to Wal-Mart. Even though it had turned dark since before I visited Schmidt Motors, the temperature had only dipped into the sixties. I wondered a little if Kendal had messed with my sense of temperature, however overheard enough inane how's-the-weather conversations in stores and on the bus that I knew everyone found it unseasonably warm.

I should have been nervous that my plan to get the extra money would not work or excited that everything had gone this well since leaving the hospital. I was just numb from fatigue. For the rest of the night I was on autopilot. I had a course of action in mind from earlier and I followed it without any further thought. I have no idea what I would have done if any even minor snags had come up.

At Wal-Mart I bought a back pack, pajamas, toiletries, snack food, wallet, and a second outfit (Dockers and a long-sleeved polo). Then I went to FedEx/Kinko's for a couple of hours, to use their computers. I should have gone to bed, however even with the exhaustion I was afraid to sleep. The last time I had fallen asleep I had lost seven years and much of my appearance. The fatigue was also probably exacerbating my paranoia

Regardless of the wisdom of doing it, I researched the other Tom more, his friends, my family, my old friends that I found on Facebook, and any related sites that came up. Thanks to my exhaustion, I honestly could not recall most of what I looked at that night and wound up doing much of the research again over time.

Thus ended my longest and worst day ever—at the cheapest motel room I could find, a Knight's Inn. I am not sure if it was fate or something more sarcastic, but I could see O'Bleness Memorial from the motel's lobby. I could not see the IHOP, although the restaurant would be easy to walk to in the morning. It was like I was taunting myself to both go to the breakfast meeting and to stay away….


	3. Chapter 3

Still edging along the cliff. The narrow ledge remains consistent—just a little narrower than the length of your feet—your bare, dirty, sore, feet. The chill wind catches and tugs at your flimsy scrub pants, threatening to pull you out into open sky. Maybe that's why your bare chested? Because you took off the shirt to avoid the wind using it as a kite?

You kept edging down the slope of the ledge, always edging, inch by inch. You dare not try to look down to gauge your progress. It would mean leaning forward, at all, and that was likely to be too much. Plus, you could not bare the disappointment if not close to the ground. So, you edge. You can angle your head to the side and up somewhat. Just enough to see more grey-blue sky and pale clouds. Edge, edge, edge, inch after dreary-terrifying inch. No way to sit or relax without falling. To the left and right, you see that the cliff arches away and back—as if you are on some massive cylinder, or the thread of an impossible screw. You gulp to suppress the shudder. Any shudder may send you over. Edge, edge…

…Edge, edge. The cliff wall is narrowing behind you. The sky seems to be clearing. You dared not believe it before. Above you can now tell that the mountainous edifice looms out and over you—a gently sloped out cropping. You can barely see any cliff wall to left or right. Your guess must have been correct—a gigantic screw… and you are coming to the point of it. Is it on the ground? It had to be. It could not just be hovering in space. What to do? You must risk a look down.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no… It's not possible. It's not fair. You were so careful. You tried so hard… The path just continues. It meets a point and starts widening again. Like two toy tops glued at their balancing points… And the clouds break. You look up, for some comfort, some small cheer, that the sun can offer…and weep. The patchwork of the landscape hangs above you. Below your feet, only ever deepening sky. Somehow you are upside down and have been headed the wrong way.

You try to decide if you can make the journey to land, or should you step out and let gravity claim you. you fear the fall more than the edging around the mountain. But it's too late. You stood still too long. The tiny hands, no more visible than the wind start to find your feet and grasp for your pants. The eerie clear laughter dances high with the wind, "Come play with us, Tommy!" You are yanked from your perch. "Come fly!" the childlike things cry.

Day 2, Wednesday, November 9th

I sat bolt upright in the motel bed. My new pajamas clung to me from sweat. I took stock of my surroundings, my breathing and heart rate returned to normal as I did. The clock-radio turned from 3:00 to 3:01am. Everything seemed to be as it was before I had slept. I turned on the bedside lamp and artificial light pooled around me, making the shadows longer and deeper. Nothing seemed to have changed or moved within the room, so I at least felt that I had not lost more years of my life. I contemplated the value of trying to nod off again versus the possibility of returning to that nightmare.

I got up and showered.

I washed away the clammy feeling of the nightmare. I had only achieved four, maybe five hours of sleep, however that plus my hot shower before bed and this new one did wonders for me. I still ached and was not near to fully rested, yet I no longer felt hobbled. As I let the steamy water cascade over me, I could not help reflecting on the feelings that my subconscious images had stirred in me, dread was foremost, as well as anger and confusion, however longing, familiarity, and excitement were almost equally as strong. It was as if part of me actually craved to be in the horrible place I had dreamt.

I also could not seem to convince myself that the dream place was just a figment of my overtaxed psyche. I felt certain in my bones that the Floating Corkscrew Mountains were real and no amount of hot water could wash the feeling away. Then, I stepped out of the shower and caught sight of my image in the slightly misted mirror; I had used the bathroom fan and left the door open for the purpose of not completely steaming the glass. The young, golden-tan, veritably shiny, face that looked back was Twilight Tommy. The name echoed in my mind as if I had spoken it thousands of times. In an instant, I realized that the name of Twilight Tommy made me feel safe-like it was a secret identity that had protected me somehow.

After that, I was generally in better spirits, although I could not quite make any more associations with my code name or the nightmare images that lingered with far greater clarity than any other dream I had ever experience. I certainly was both unwilling and unable to return to slumber. So, I rinsed out strategic sweat areas in my PJs and similar targeted cleaning of my clothes from the day before. I did not want to risk my garments not fully drying, if I soaked them thoroughly. I half listened to the TV and considered the logistics of stopping by a coin laundry later, while I did rinsed and packed my meager belongings into my backpack.

With the new puzzle pieces of my unsettling dream and my Twilight moniker added to the jumble of the other things I half-knew and only partially believed, no new sense or reason had come to me. At least the somewhat domestic actions and plotting my goals for the day ahead helped to distract me from the inexplicable. By 6:30 am, everything was as good as it was going to be, so I grabbed my stuff and headed out; no need to bother with check out when you pay in cash at check in.

I paused long enough to verify the date on the complimentary USA Today that had been left in front of my room's door. A minor and dubious reassurance, for if the pair was to be believed I was still not in 2004 as I felt I should be, yet it was Wednesday November 9th, 2011. So, at least, the days seemed to be passing as they should.

My goals for the day should be straight forward: surreptitiously return property, work out the logistics of wiring myself money, and collect my car. Every time I anticipated the Festiva Jack had promised, I felt that oddly reassuring thrum inside me, I could not tell if it was simply my excitement, if it was another piece for the growing pile of disconnected puzzle bits, or if it was just stress related. I had absolutely pushed myself harder than I should have the day before, so I planned to keep things easier going forward. At a bare minimum, I hoped that an easier day would prevent any more dreams like the one that prematurely woke me.

Of course, I also had to allow for whatever may come from meeting with the group at IHOP. They seemed like such a chaotic mess. Yet, my curiosity to know what they had learned yesterday and my need for kindred spirits had gotten the better of me and I had decided to go to the pancake restaurant while using the complimentary hair drier on my socks. The thoughts forced a resigned sigh out of me, as I entered the clear dawn light.

The sun was barely up. The clouds were thin and wispy, but plentiful enough to soften the sunlight slightly. It was cool rather than chilly, I had to keep reminding myself it was November, not September. The weather seemed to promise to remain as uneventful as the day before. I wondered briefly if I should have saved the money I spent on the hat, scarf, and gloves.

First stop, O'Bleness Memorial. I had not originally intended to return the clothes; I had pay for them after all. Yet, as I reflected over things deep and shallow, in the wee hours before dawn, I altered more of my earlier expectations than just dining at IHOP. Since I was sulkily entering the hospital almost exactly 24 hours later than I had last departed, the whole thing had a strong déjà vu vibe. I left the jacket, pants, and shoes in the same locker where I had found them, with another note on scratch paper, "Thanks again."

I only realize now that I recount this that the locker may not have been assigned to a specific person. I certainly didn't see any name tags. So, I am vaguely curious if the original owner ever regained their property, or if I should have just kept and gotten some more use out of them for myself.

Then I found a quiet, empty exam room with a phone like the one in which my party had been. I pulled out the note pad I had bought at Target and looked up the number I had jotted down from the internet research I had done, dialed 9, and called my old bank's 24 hour customer service line. After less time on hold than I expected the Rep. answered.

"Yeah hi," I replied, "I recently moved and want to verify that you have my correct address." I was proud of that. The Rep could not then use my address as a verification of my ID. I gave my social security number and mom's maiden name. The Customer Service Representative gave me my doppelganger's address and verified what I would need in order to make a wire transfer. The address had also been available with the online banking I had reviewed at the library, of course. However, this call also verified that I could successfully get a bank dupe to do my bidding. I had anticipated no reason why there should have been a problem, however considering all the other strangeness with which I was coping, I was doing my best to not take anything for granted.

Thanks to the short hold time with customer service, I had time to take a bus to and from the nearest Western Union office, before heading to the IHOP. The office was not open yet, so it was good that I had located the necessary routing data from the computer. It was still reassuring to verify that the building was where it was supposed to be, again not wanting to leave anything to chance. With the Western Union location thus confirmed, I went to breakfast.

I admit that I was still reveling in both mundane actions and my own ingenuity.

Almost all of the gang from the hospital showed up. Solanna did not come and no one knew for sure if she even left O'Bleness, although no one worried that she was still in police custody either. In fact none of my dining companions seemed concerned about the police for their own sakes either, which made me realize that applied to me as well.

The others may have been relying on whatever Inca Alstroemeria had done, I certainly was not going to bring the subject up. For my part, I remembered that Officer Kovacs had not taken our names, muttering something about it would be easier when he could get some help at the precinct. Therefore, I assumed the worst case was the police had some descriptions for what they had treated as a bunch of homeless people. So, it was very unlikely the cops would care about us, as long as we avoided drawing their further attention.

I also lamented briefly not making more of an effort to engage the Archivist of Specialty Account Alchemical. I had been to self involved and intent on fleeing the situation. The rest of my companions had only seen someone as distorted as themselves, yet far better dressed, and then assumed she had all the answers to everything. Inca may not have known specifics about what had happened to us, however she probably could have outlined some ways we might move forward. This line of musing was cut short with some distraction or other presented by my fellow diners.

Two tables had to be pushed together to accommodate the eight of us in the busy diner. My associates had all improved their attires, although their social skills remained haphazard. Plus, as I have mentioned, I was more in gear than the day before, I was still not firing on all cylinders. Thus, the ensuing breakfast meeting remains a bit chaotic in my mind and what follows is a best effort on my part to reconstruct what I can.

One of the first things that had stood out to me was that cloudy-headed Mike was mooching off of long-fingered Milton and then left part way through the meal. As a whole, I was horrified and nervous at how openly they all spoke about our conditions and what had happened. On a merely social level, any normal listener (like our waitress) would have easily thought the group crazy or perhaps a cult. While I was not worried that Athens PD was looking for us, I did have a healthy respect for it being a post 9/11 world. Also, we had no real reason to believe that just because Ms. Alstroemeria paid us off, that Anwynn or his cronies were not still interested in us—perhaps to dispose of us as failed experiments. So, I was concerned that government or corporate (Kendal most likely) organizations might have agents anywhere.

Thus, I spoke as little as possible and tried to look like I was not sure about my companions. I imagined that if someone came and questioned me, I could say I was new and did not know them. I could claim that the group had claimed to be a social club and that I did not realize how weird and culty they were until I had sat down. I was, admittedly, paranoid. I only regret that it took so much longer to discover the proper focus for my fears.

Regardless, I kept being drawn into the conversation. Sometimes I could not let what the others said go without response, more often I would have a flash of insight. Insight that would either cause me to try and subtly fish for corroboratory information, or would cause me to blurt out whatever had just formed in my mind. Luckily, the latter were rare and really only served to prove that I was one of the group, in spite of my misgivings.

Sometimes the insights would seem like a partial memory, others seemed like just my imagination, usually they felt like both. When Hank mentioned a dreaming of being auctioned as a slave, for example, I felt like he and I had met in a dark wood… Was it the same thorny overgrown forest that I had envisioned when Ms. Alstroemeria suggested we had taken two days to return to Kendal? There may have been other people with the bib fireman and I, yet I could call to mind no other details. Or, when Gerri talked of dreaming of being buried alive, over and over again, I flashed to introducing myself to her as Twilight Tommy and she replied with her other not-Gerri name. Yet, I remembered nothing else of that possible encounter and if it were just my imagination should I not be able to imagine more context?… I simply could not coax more to mind as I sat there and the flashes kept nagging at me.

Each of the others did recount a nightmare, though. I wound up admitting that I did have a nightmare as well, but had been able to stay my tongue regarding any of my personal details. All of us had subconsciously experienced a variation on imprisonment, capture, enslavement, or torture. Ken had been in an all metal cell and could only try to claw his way out, Milton had been captured by giant spiders, Leroy had been held prisoner in a cave by some wild beast, and so on. Hairy Kyle's had sounded the worst to me as he had been torn open and worn like a suit by some clawed monster. In each case where the dreamer had awoke and checked the time, it had been at 3:00 am. I found the coincidence interesting, although it was barely odd enough to register on my current weird-o-meter. The reminders of my own nightmare made me uncomfortable, I changed the topic, as soon as possible.

"Does food taste strange to anyone else?" I asked as I poked at my pancakes with knife and fork. "I mean, the eggs seem mostly okay and the coffee, but everything else tastes odd. And I don't just mean this food. Everything yesterday was the same." I was desperate to talk about anything more normal

The group thought it over. Leroy gave a noncommittal half nod, half shrug. Gerri spoke first. "Yeah, definitely." Her button-nose sniffed at the bit of sausage on her fork before popping it into her velvety mouth. "Like everything has been sprayed with perfume or soap or something."

"I hadn't really been paying attention," said Ken, "But now that you mention it, yeah it does taste weird." He sipped some coffee. "I think I had assumed the bad taste in my mouth was from whatever drugs we had been given."

"No it's definitely the food." Milton's gruff voice pointed out. "'Cause it's not there when I'm not eating. It's real chemically." He wrinkled his nose on his wrinkly face to underline his point. "Prepackaged stuff seems to be the worst."

"I don't know," Hank chimed in cheerfully scooping some more pancakes into his mouth, like a crack in a pavement, he continued after swallowing, "I guess it does taste different. I just figured I hadn't had it for a while. Like maybe they changed their recipes… I got some breakfast bars at Wal-Mart and they're pretty unpleasant, but I always thought of them like that."

That led into a discussion of purchases and there relative values, given our homeless—near refugee—states. Most obvious was our attire: each of us had opted for all weather, steel toed, hiking boots, although I was the only one who scored Dock Martins. Everyone, with the exception of my khakis, wore sturdy Wal-Mart blue jeans. Even Mike had somehow convinced Milton to buy him an outfit better than hospital scrubs. Mike and Leroy were the only two in t-shirts, I assumed that Milton went as cheap as possible on Mike's clothes and that the linebacker sized Leroy could not find any other shirts that fit. I wore a blue short sleeved polo as did Kyle, although the hirsute man's strong arms an chest filled out his top more impressively. Ken and Milton each had dress shirts opened at the collar, but buttoned at the wrists. I guessed the two haggard gentlemen were trying to cover as much of their scarring as possible. Hank and Gerri each sported flannel tops, his sleeves rolled up to show off the chunky forearms, hers buttoned to the top and wrists. We had all bought winter jackets as well, but hardly had need of them.

Even though Gerri tried to wear her green and brown flannel as if she were in a military dress shirt, her feminine form could not be denied. A shirt like that usually concealed the lines of a body, yet Gerri's curves only found ways to fill out strategic areas and entice the viewer with what lay beneath. Added to her auburn pony tail and porcelain skin with just a few freckles dusting each cheek bone beneath her wide clear eyes, the woman fulfilled any girl-next-door fantasies that anyone had ever had.

Overall, our group looked very minimum wage and working class. I might have been mistaken for an assistant manager to the rest of my breakfast companions. It was a thrilling leap forward from the "escaped mental patients" look we had shared little more than one day earlier. It made me feel that much more secure that the authorities would not recognize us, if they did happen to be looking for us.

In addition to clothes and food, all of the others had also bought things assuming they might be on the run and need to sleep out of doors. Along with cheap cell phones, most of them mentioned tools that could be used as weapons. At one point, Milton nudged his new backpack protectively and it clanked with several heavy metal objects; he confessed to having acquired a hammer, crowbar, and hatchet, as well as duct tape, zip ties, and various other object that made him sound like he was ready to go kidnapping rather than just survival camping. I felt like they were all being way too civilization-cannot-be-trusted with their purchases. Although I, admittedly, kept a couple of rolls of the dollar coins, to weight my fists in a fight. So, I guess we were all expecting something bad.

During this listing of assets, I had another flash impression. This time of an exhausted Milton, yet again lamenting his lost tools—like it was something he had done a lot.

When the phones were mentioned, an exchange of numbers passed around the table. I made sure to jot down everyone contact info in my pocket-notebook. I was glad for that moment more than any other at that meeting, it made me feel that I could leave the group as I had already wanted to, yet still access them in smaller doses to touch bases. I did not mention the irony that I saw in their obvious expectations at potentially living outside of society, while still clinging to a technology that could track their every move and would be utterly useless should society actually fall.

All, with the exception of Mike, took some pleasure in recounting for me the mist-headed man's actions after I had left them in the hospital. Ken summed it up the most succinctly, "When that bookkeeper chic came to his name," He pointed a scar riddled thumb at Mike, "he steadfastly refused the money." The fencing instructor rolled his slightly metallic eyes. "We tried to get him to take whatever he could get, since whatever was done was done. Instead, he argued that if he did not accept the payment, then Dr. Anwynn was still under some obligation to him." Ken shook his head reliving the confusion he had felt. "I thought it was seemed a tenuous argument, at best, since Ms. Astromirror, or whatever her name was, had said that we were done as far as the contracts were concerned and especially since we have no way of contacting the doctor." He put both healed-over hands on the table and leaned towards me for emphasis. "Then he did sign a paper for the woman that stated that he had refused the payment."

I was as dumbfounded as the others had been. Mike was either an idiot, or far more insane than this experience had made the rest of us. Although, I had a distinct gut feeling that such petulant stubbornness was just par for Mike's course. It was around then that short fellow left. I suspect our laughter at his expense may have been a factor in Mike's early departure from the meal.

I cannot remember if it was before or after Mike went off in a huff, however someone (probably Gerri) had asked where the green-stained lad and Milton had come from. Kyle had verified the other two men were part of the Kendal study, but how did they get from there to O'Bleness? Milton provided the story.

The two men's tale started the same as the rest of us (falling asleep in the Kendal facility, on a Saturday back in 2004) and ended like Kyle's (In a suburb near the river getting picked up by the police). Except Milton and Mike had actually approached a house and asked for the police to be called.

Milton explained the in-between part, "I woke up on the river bank, half in the freezing water. Mike was next to me and slipping more into the river. After I grabbed him and shook him awake, we crawled up the muddy bank." The old-looking man spoke in a grim determined-monotone that I thought might have come fromm watching too many Humphrey Bogart movies.

"Kendal backed on the river and I recognized it in the moonlight, even though the building was completely dark. We also saw a lot of movement on the ground near the building. It was pretty much all shadows, but I thought I saw a few people and a whole lot of dogs." There were audible intakes of breath around the table, as several of us recalled the eerie hounds that had seemed to stalk us to the BP station. Milton kept talking, "I could tell that one guy help put someone else inside a rear emergency exit. He closed the door, just as a bunch of the dogs swarmed him and tore him apart. And I mean limb from limb." His sipped some coffee, allowing a dramatic pause.

"That's when I realized, that what I thought was other people on the lawn, were just corpses and parts." Milton watched our reactions as he told his tale.

The other diners were somber, yet not particularly shocked. I know that I had expected something like this as soon as the dogs were mentioned. Although, did feel true remorse for the stranger at the door. Since no-one else had been inside the Kendal building with my group when we searched it, I assumed the person that Milton saw getting killed had just saved Leroy or Hank (as they had been by the interior of that door) and probably the rest of us as well. Assuming any of this was real in the first place, of course. I did not interrupt the burn-scarred wrinkle—man to mention my insight to the others, though, as I could not see how it mattered now that the guy was dead; we could not even collect his body for burial.

"Not knowing what else to do," Milton's low voice continued, "we slid back to the river. Swam for a while, Came up on the far bank and headed to the nearest lights."

At first, I was impressed that the two men had the fortitude to cross the river. Then I thought of those hounds and what seeing them slaughtering someone would be like. I probably would have risked swimming the icy waters as well.

After the duo had been collected by a squad car, Milton explained "The cop… Kovacs, I think his name was, made some comment about another two and it being a full moon, even though it clearly wasn't. Then he drove us to O'Bleness saying we could just join the rest." He shrugged his hunched shoulders. "As the copper was helping us out of the back seat, that Alstroemeria woman walked up to him, spit in his eye, and told us to follow her." Milton opened his long fingered hands palms up. "Kovacs just seemed to forget about us and started getting back in his car. We had no other offers for assistance, so we followed the lady to where she pulled the spit trick a couple more times, then into the room where you all were."

It may have been at some other point during the extended conversation, but Milt also told us how he and the now fur covered and athletic Kyle had followed Inca Alstroemeria as she left the hospital. "She walked north a couple of blocks…"

I flashed to Kyle in all his hirsute glory speeding along on all fours, running free of the tangling foliage. Yet another impression that seemed more like a memory that I could not quite place.

The hang-dog narrator continued, "She had gone down a service road in a commercial area. She stopped at a manhole cover and glanced around. I'm pretty sure she didn't make us." The scarred man seemed unaware how much his gruff voice sounded like a cheap detective in a 40's movie. "She pulled a two foot crowbar out of her bag, hooked it into the cover, and opened the manhole." He mimicked the action with his fork and pancake. "She climbed into the hole and used the bar to slide the lid back in place over her."

"Hold up." Ken cut in. "How'd she have a two foot crowbar in that little bag?"

"Same way she had all those money belts she handed out probably." I offered. "Unless, she told someone how she did that, I'm betting it's one more of our many inexplicable mysteries."

Ken and the rest nodded thoughtfully.

"Anyway, we," Milton flipped his thumb between himself and the furry svelt fellow to his left, "hurried over and listened at the drain holes. I heard her boots on metal rungs, then her stepping into shallow water. She greeted someone—called him Arthur. Then it sounded like she walked off."

The private eye finished his coffee, then concluded. "I tested the cover gently. Just enough to verify it was standard. It was and that means heavy. The lady lifted it one handed with no sign of effort. I did not actually try to open it, though. I did not want to meet Arthur, especially not in a set of scrubs." He chewed and watched us for reactions.

Kyle had just sat curled over his plate like he was afraid someone might try and snatch it away. the fuzzy man had nodded affirmatively as Milton had told the story, though. The rest of us nodded and thought, once the unfortunate looking skin-bag had finished. Some of us probably even thought about what Milt had just said. Most of us though, just as probably, were thinking about ourselves and not particularly concerned about an deceptively strong accountant and her Mary Poppins bag. The way I figured it, none of us were likely to ever see Ms. Alstroemeria ever again.

Milton must have sensed that he had a fairly rapt audience, or he did not like silences, or (most likely) he did not care for most of the chatter that came out of the rest of us around the table, Whatever the case the saggy old fart told us another story of his adventures the day before. Milton claimed to have revisited the Kendal building that afternoon, alone this time. The short version is that the self proclaimed private eye said that abandoned building's basement had a large gap in the floor, like an earthquake had caused it. Milton shivered as he talked about the basement and that he had disturbed something and they came swarming out of the hole. Milton admitted that he did not stay to get a good look, but he knew it was not the hounds from the terrible skittering noises the creatures made. "Bugs of some kind," Milton wrapped up swallowing hard his wind ravaged face white with fear, "like a sort of beetle, but bigger and blacker than any beetle I've ever seen."

Other members of the party did talk though, Gerri spoke up at one point, "Hey guys, I was thinking, my thousand dollars isn't stretching as far as I thought it would. And I thought we might try pooling our resources." She had put her utensils down and sat with perfect posture (accentuating her bosom), not reaching for anything until she saw how we responded.

"Yeah," Hank agreed quickly, "I think it's important that we stay together. We don't know if anyone's gonna come looking for us." He drank coffee in his orange boulder of a left hand, while his fork hovered and motioned in his right. "If they do and it's good news we can all benefit right away. But if they come and their trouble we have safety in numbers."

I was pleased that at least one other person was as concerned about what was behind us, as well as what was coming next.

"That's true," Gerri allowed, nodding her head once to set her silken red pony tail to swaying, "but I was more thinking about food and shelter. Prices are higher than I remember and lots of little things are adding up quick."

"Like rrr taking the urmph bus everywhererere." Grumble-mumbled Kyle, as he hunched over his plate, forcing himself to look at us by rolling his little black-eyes upward.

"Yeah," Said Gerri, reaching for her coffee mug, "It's only a buck-twenty-five, but five or six times a day adds up. It's like an extra meal per day."

"Sure," Ken added, sitting back and sipping more coffee, "and the cheapest hotel I could find was the Knight's Inn and that was still almost fifty bucks."

There was a minute or so while most of us agreed and admitted we had also stayed at the exact same hotel. I considered mentioning that walking served me just fine to save on bus fare, then decided I did not want to undercut Gerri's point.

"See," said Gerri, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the fencer, "If we shared rooms then we could at least half the costs."

"More," added Milton gruffly, "if we went a double, then four or five of us use it. Sleeping on the floor, or whatever."

"Plus," Hank pointed out, "we need to figure out what's going on and we can cover more ground and information, if we work together."

Hank and Gerri then ran through various survival and teamwork principles that they felt applied. They drew from his firefighter background and her ROTC training for supporting data. I felt like they were stretching a bit on a couple of points, but realized that they just wanted to make sure we did not split up.

I was skeptical of how much I wanted to entrust my resources to them. I mean Milton had spent money on a hatchet… in the middle of a 21st century American town. I will concede that if it came to living outside in Hawking Hills or some other State Park, then the hatchet was a good idea. Personally, I wanted to do whatever I could to avoid having to live outside, especially in the woods, and if those hounds were real.

Even so, in the end, each of us did agree to a joint effort. Regardless of the money, or relative wisdom of my new allies, I just had to admit to myself that I wanted the few people who knew what I thought I knew to be nearby.

As soon as I said that I would go along with the team up, I felt a flutter of thwang-hums resonate within me, mush like I had when dealing with Jack Schmidt. The sensation seemed to create another low level tension in my chest, yet just like with Jack's as soon as I stopped actively thinking about it I did not really feel anything. I had wanted to ask my cohorts if they had been experiencing anything similar, however the conversation had moved on and I forgot to bring it up.

Similarly, when I had arrived at the chain-diner the one topic I had fully expected would be discussed was how each of the others had faired when contacting their families. Gerri's experience on the phone and my one discovery of a replicant-Tom had made me very cautious about reaching out to my own relations. However, the subject never seemed to come up. Even I did not think about it while we were actually together, if I had though, I would probably ascribed it to some residual effect of Dr. Anwynn's manipulations. I mention the lapse now, to give the reader a greater appreciation of how addled all our minds still were at that point, enough to forget about our families and social support structures.

We did discuss in more detail the idea of paying for a hotel room or two for double occupancy, then sneaking the rest of us in later. That led to someone suggesting that we save even more money by finding an abandoned house to squat in. Someone else pointed out that they had seen on a news feed (on one of the nearly ubiquitous televisions in almost every restaurant) that there was a mortgage crisis going on, so there was probably a higher number of empty foreclosed homes.

Largely due to the sticker-shock we had each already experienced, we all agreed to the squatting idea, at least for a night or two. Normally I would be too worried about the risk, of some disgruntled neighbor or cop showing up, but with the others there I felt more secure. Like the big guys could probably intimidate any big mouth neighbor and I could probably run faster than most of my allies to get away from any officials trying to catch us.

Gerri, Leroy, and I, would go to the library and research recent newspapers for foreclosure notices, real estate listings, cheap rentals, and the like. Hank, Milton, Ken, and Kyle were assigned as appraisers. Gerri would call the appraisers when the researchers found a potential squat and a pair of them would bus over and scout the property in question—for ease of access, potential nosiness of neighbors, and the like. I verified that I was on board; I just had to run a few personal errands first.

Not willing to miss an opportunity, or to forgo my own personal goals, I asked if I could make a call on one of their phones. The living wall, Hank, again loaned me his cell. Although, in return, he privately asked me to research his death. Apparently, the big firefighter also had an imposter, only his died in early 2005—shortly after we all had originally signed our lives over. When my hand touched Hanks pebbly fingers to take the phone, I felt another chest and body surge/ringlet, like I had with Jack the night before. Again the feeling left me reassured, while also more anxious to look up Hank's history than I had expected to be. I was starting to detect the pattern to that odd thrumming sensation, although had not yet started to apply any deductive reasoning to understanding the instinct. It probably should have been higher on my priority list, simply because the experience may have been heart related.

I stepped into the parking lot, the day was already warm enough that I did not need to use my hat or gloves. I called the bank's service line again, verified myself with Social security number and address this time. I never used to like that businesses started using massive call centers for this kind of service. Now, the idea that I would get the same assistant was ridiculous. Not that they would care, it just helped to obscure my trail further. I had the helpful rep wire transfer my imposter's full account balance to the Western Union office—less transfer fees, of course.

I returned Hank's phone, then I told Gerri and Leroy that I would see them in a couple of hours, Then I headed back to the Western Union. On the way, a half dozen little fish-thoughts—slippery and elusive—kept nibbling at the edge of my ability to grasp them. Most of the slippery buggers were the various names that I felt certain that I should be calling my comrades, rather the names we had signed away to the devious Dr. A. I relegated the notions to another low priority slot and tried to ignore the thought fish, to focus on my plans for the day. Whenever I am unable to remember a celebrity's name, not thinking about it usually makes it pop to mind. Plus, with my joining a group effort, I had to reorganize my personal goals to accommodate my expanded responsibilities.

I collected my money at Western Union and then bussed over to Schmidt Auto. Jack was even more surprise to see me than he had been the night before. My old friend also look at my six one-hundred dollar bills with some suspicion. So, I did not linger at the dealership; I bought the used black Festiva I had been offered, and headed to my Credit Union to make another deposit.

As soon as I signed for the car and the dealer handed me the key I felt a wave of… well it was not quite elation and saying it felt like muh-gnawt does not do it justice either, although that is closer. It was a release or expansiveness that seemed to ripple from my core and out my fingers and toes. It was the dissipation of the odd thrumming tension that I had felt since Jack and I had agreed to the deal.

I the sensations from earlier at the IHOP still tensed and hummed when I considered them and I was curious to discover how long they would last. However, returning to Athens Federal CU dressed like a normal person was far more important.

If the money from Ms. Alstroemeria was a tenuous life line, then having a car again was a solid bridge back towards normalcy. After the credit union, I had to resist the urge to simply drive until my Festiva's gas ran out. A bridge to normal was not being normal. I had my goals and had also decided to be part of the other's goals as well. So, I reigned in my driving wander-lust, skipped lunch, and headed to the public library.

I was more comfortable with the idea of spending money on a higher class of restaurant, except that four crappy meals in a row had made me food shy. At that moment, if I did go to a nice eatery and it's fare was also barely edible, then I just did not know what I would do.

Like most public libraries, this one was as clean as they could keep it, but staffing is always low and books make dust like nobody's business. The building had been made in the 50s and the decorations had probably not been redone since the 70s. Whish at least meant lots of wood shelves and tables and carpeting on most floors.

Throughout the afternoon, Gerri, Leroy, and I found about a half a dozen potential empty homes. Although, I only gave the house hunting about half of my attention, as I did still have personal research goals to which I could attend. Specifically, I had concluded that the liquor store woman had known something about my group's condition and wanted to find out what. So, I also looked into some information on traditional Asian cultures, with a focus on my best guess of Chinese.

I did also squeeze in some reading on Hank's death. The firefighter had died on the job in a fire, shortly after participating in a Kendal study. Several complaints and law suits had been filed against Kendal in regards to the 2004 drug study. Apparently erratic behavior and dramatic alterations in personality had effected most of the volunteer-patients. However, Hank's death was the key to solidifying a class action law suit. Replacement-Hank's demise had garnered some media attention and was linked back to Kendal. In the end, Kendal settled out of court and a lot of families (including Hank's sisters, Gerri's parents, and everyone else's doppelgangers) received fairly large settlements. My stomach burned bitterly at how I imagined my imposter had squandered his ill gotten gains.

The reddish-orange bodybuilder had asked me to both look into his supposed death and see if I could think of a way that he may be recognized as alive once more. I am no lawyer, so I could not find any reasonable way for Hank to return to his life without him having to answer questions that he simply could not answer without sounding completely insane. At the time my only advice would be to wait until we learned more about what really happened to us and maybe by then a solution will have presented itself. Much later, I did think of a story that the big fellow might try, however it was likely to strain believability—I will leave details for their natural place in this tale.

I probably could of done more research, but I grabbed a cat nap instead. In my Old Navy attire, I looked far more like a college student than the hobo I had the day before. So, I was not getting nearly as much of a stink eye from the library staff. Plus, I hoped that Gerri or Leroy would wake me if it looked like my nap was causing a disturbance. Although the large black man rarely spoke or seemed to be paying attention, so my hopes were mainly with the gorgeous freckle-faced lass—in more ways than one, to be honest.

Shortly after the library closed, our scouts reported back on all the prospective properties. The majority agreed on where we would squat and how to go about entering the house. I was concerned that the group picked the most affluent neighborhood of any of our choices. On the other hand, I was also drawn to the nicer place's semblance of comfort, so did not push my concerns.

Some of us tried Long John Silver's for dinner. The fish was almost good—after removing the breading. Then we met up with the rest at Wal-Mart and bought some groceries for the squat. Easy stuff, apples, granola bars, a couple microwaveable meals (the scouts confirmed there would be a working microwave). I also purchased an air mattress, sleeping bag, and two pillows. I made sure not to go too cheap on these items. I needed them to last and possibly function out of doors, if our situation were to go bad.

Some of the others invested in sleeping bags as well, although no-one else got a pillow or bed and only a few bought towels. We had not officially pooled our money in any way, so if my colleagues did not care about comfort I did not feel the need to suggest they make better selections. Besides they saw me buying mine and must have chosen not to bother doing the same.

I shuttled a couple of our band over to the house in my Festiva. The rest trickled in via the bus, so as not to draw the attention of so many strangers funneling into an empty home. None of my allies seemed suitably impressed that I had managed to get a car, less than 24 hours after waking up with nothing but rags. Of course, none of the others had tried either, so they could not appreciate how successfully clever I had been. In retrospect, I suppose they may have imagined that I had merely stolen the Festiva and did not want to call attention to it. After all, Ken or Milton had expertly picked open the lock of the house that we were in. So, the group probably just thought in terms of theft as being the status quo.

At least, the house also had an attached garage, which I liked a great deal, as I did not want to park my car someplace it might draw attention. I worried that the neighbors might get suspicious seeing me using the garage, yet it was better than parking at a 24 hours store like Wal-Mart and bussing over.

It was well past sunset when we tried to settle in. That is, of course, when most everyone had come to their senses long enough to realize what they had neglected to buy (towels, duct tape, food, etc.) Which I wanted to be more superior about, except I was having trouble remembering things like concern for my family, so I had to assume the others were just reconstructing their own mental puzzles and had not collected together many of the foresight and planning pieces yet. Regardless, I was glad to volunteer to compile a list, collect their money, and go shopping—any excuse to be driving more. Plus, I also wanted to swing by a couple of smaller shops for a few trinkets that had not been available at Wal-Mart, so I would have a selection of peace offering when I returned to the liquor store.

I also wanted time away from the group because the feeling that we were all speaking out of turn anytime any of us used our real names was growing more irksome—like they were standing too close. On my own it was easier to ignore that feeling of invaded personal space. Imagining that when someone called me "Tom", it was meant as short for the Tommy in Twilight Tommy, also help to release some of the social pressure.

Of course, each of my new companions could all still just be manifestations of my own subconscious. Which would explain the almost intimate feelings associated with using their names. However, as time passed, I was feeling less confident about my Total Recall theory. I was also feeling less concerned about generating an explanation, for that matter. I figured someone had answers, if I could just find them. Even if the Total Recall thing was right, then some part of me must know what happened and be able to manifest as the others had.

By eight o'clock, we had picked our rooms. Milton had taped black garbage bags over most of the windows. Shades drawn first, then plastic taped over them. It made the interior look crappy, but from outside you could not tell if a light was on inside. I thought that was pretty clever. The family room had a sliding, glass door that opened onto a deck. So we just had to avoid lights in the family room. There were two full baths and the water (like the electricity) was on. We took turns in the showers. No clothes washer though, so that night would eventually end with hand washing clothes and draping them around floors and windowsills to dry.

The seven of us gathered in the finished basement to discuss next moves. We were pleased with our success so far. Yet, many of us felt more uneasy here than we had expected.

"I know I agreed to this to save money," Gerri said, "but all this sneaking around doesn't feel right." She sat with her feet folded under her knees on the carpeting of the unfurnished basement, her back straight as always, and her delicate cream-colored hands on the denim hugging her thighs.

"Yeah," Hank agreed, he stood leaning his blocky shoulders against the wall near the stairs, "it's like now that we're actually here the whole breaking and entering-ness of it is more clear. I mean this was someone's home."

Ken shrugged. "'Was' being the key word." He sat against the wall opposite Hank, legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and shoulders against the wall. The professor always looked weary, no matter how recently he had eaten or slept, the gaunt man looked like he had been without either for days.

"I'd say," Milton agreed, sitting against a wall like Ken, but folded his legs like Gerri, "a little sneaking around was worth running water, toilets, and a secure place to sleep."

"But for how long?" Gerri asked, making sure to make eye contact with the long-fingered Milt.

"Well we should probably stay here a day or two," the scarred and saggy man answered matter of factly, "then go to one of the other places we saw. We could probably do that for a couple of weeks, as long as we keep checking the papers for new squats."

"Just keep breaking into places?" Hank was incredulous and sarcastic. "That's sure to go well." He refolded his squared arms over his big flannel covered chest with some annoyance

"It's rrerr just until urm we get some rrghmoney orrrr jobs togetherererer." Pointed out Kyle in his gargle-y manner. The furry fellow had squatted in a corner, two walls supporting him and knees up in front of his chest with arms folded on top.

"And how long is that going to take?" Ken rasped, apparently deciding to play Devil's Advocate for every position. "Especially since we don't have IDs or permanent address and will have to spend a lot of time moving our base camp around." He flexed his scar-covered hands as he spoke, as if he were working out muscle kinks.

"Plus," Gerri added, "each time we come and go from a squat, there's a chance we'll draw unwanted attention." Her bright emerald eyes flashed as they darted around tracking everyone's positions.

I had to agree. "Yeah, I don't care so much that we're using houses that the banks took away from people. The only ones we're taking anything from is the banks and I think they'll be fine in the end. But getting caught is not cool. If we get caught, especially, without IDs the cops and the bank will not be lenient." I had been standing next to Ken and mimicking Hank's body language, but I paced when I spoke and made nonspecific gestures with my perfectly tanned hands.

The conversation went around along those lines for a while. No one was very impassioned about their side. We wound up agreeing that we would stay in that particular abode one more night, if we must, then move to one of the other pre-scouted houses. In the meantime, we would all seek to find more legitimate housing, preferably with room enough for all of us. So, I mentally started reshuffling my list of goals, until I was able to jot down the more earnest house hunting in my notebook.

Gerri also brought up going back to the Chinese liquor store, as she too had suspected the woman there had known more than she was saying. I had not mentioned to any of them that I had been planning to go back alone. In the short time I had been with those people, I had been underwhelmed with their ability to interact in numbers more than two or three. Still, I offered to drive. Since Gerri was going, I wanted to at least hear what she found out as soon as possible.

I clarified, "I can fit three passengers in my Festiva, four if they wanted to sit on each other in the back seat, more if someone's willing to travel in the hatch storage."

Only Gerri and Hank came.

I stayed in the car, when we got to the store marked "Liquor". I told them I still thought more than two going in might seem threatening. Plus, I would be ready to drive away at a moment's notice, should anything go really wrong. While true, I also wanted to see what the others did and what happened to them, before I tried.

The sky was black, the waning moon too weak to pass any glow through the total cloud cover. I only shivered with nervousness a little as I sat in the dark, the weak lights of the parking lot being made dimmer by comparison to the BP's halogen shine. It was hard to believe the BP seemed so close now, it had seemed so far yesterday… Yesterday, it hadn't even been 48 hours since we were collected by the police, or saw the hounds… I shivered again and strained to hear any baying howls.

About twenty minutes later my passengers got back in the car. They were both a little rattled. Additionally Gerri was more frustrated, while Hank seemed more confused. They told me what happened, back and forth. Each remembering a little piece the other left out and adding it, sometimes backtracking. As a kindness to my reader, I shall not reproduce their dialog as it happened.

The gist was: the old woman was not there, however an equally ancient man (presumably her husband) was. After Gerri gave the elderly shopkeeper money, to compensate for the merchandise that Ken had taken, the clerk had been slightly more inclined to answer questions. Those of us from the Kendal study are "Spirit Touched", no longer of this world. The spirit world is connected to this one by the Maze on the Edge. Our group had clearly successfully fled the spirit world via the Maze, returning to the mortal world changed by our time away. The Maze on the Edge may also be called the Maze, the Edge, or other names for which the man could not recall the translation. The Edge is full of predators like the hound pack we had seen (well, Gerri, Milton, and Mike had seen). Shining Ones take mortals for labor and pleasure. The ancient man did not know which Shining One took us, nor did he talk about how or why they stole people. The only protection against Shining Ones, or spirit-creatures in general, that the clerk could think of hand was that salt was often a deterrent. the man also implied that his family were all hundreds of years old.

"Whoa!" I held up my palms and halted the jumbled narrative duet and backed it up a bit. "Salt, really? How much did you get?"

I was not sure that I was going to buy into this fairytale explanation of our situation. Yet, none of my own, or my allies, explanations had been any more concrete. So, I figured I would go along with whatever was being presented, as long it was not harmful, and try to verify as soon as possible.

My passengers blinked at each other. The weightlifter shrugged. The military lady said, "None." As if she saw no reason to have acquired any of the mineral in question.

I grabbed my keys and leapt out of the car. The other two did not follow.

In the store I saw the new ancient, three tailed dog—bow in her hair and chewing on a puppy-shaped squeeze toy. She growled at me. I bowed to her to see if that would help. She growled more. I plowed on and went into the store's aisles and found the salt. I took the pound of mineral grains (Morton's cylinder) to the register.

I kept one eye on the three-tailed dog whenever possible. She returned the treatment, yet did not move from her post, nor did she lift her paw from the squeeze toy, or start to increase in size.

Based on my research into Chinese culture and the assumption that spirit-touched were real, it seemed clear to me that the store owners were fu creatures. Which meant I knew that historically, or mythically, or whatever, fu-lions were used as temple guardians. Unfortunately, even if the liquor store was considered a sacred place, I still had no clue whether the venerable proprietors were guarding for or against my best interests.

I placed the salt down and then fished out the rice wine that I had purchased for the purpose out of my pocket and placed it with the salt. I bowed to the man and then clumsily made it clear that I was not offering a trade. "I, um, I will pay for the salt, the wine is a gift."

The Asian man's wrinkled face was inscrutable, although he did reach out and accept the wine with a slight tilt of his head. Then I blundered conversationally forward and the shop keep-guardian-spirit answered my clumsy questions. For the sake of my own vanity I shall also sum up my conversation with Mr. Shui (as he said to call him). The imposters that had taken our places for the past seven years are "Shadow Eaters". Shadow-eaters are hard to get rid of once they have been so long in this, the mortal world. Shadows in this respect are like parts of a creature or person's life force, Mr. Shui would not go so far as to say soul. Shadows can grow back, if damaged, such as by being partially eaten. Salt is not more or less effective against the shadow-eaters. Salt can ward or cleanse areas against other worldly intruders, such as Shining Ones.

I got the impression that I had reached the extent of one rice wine's worth of goodwill and my mind had started to reel again, anyway. I thanked Mr. Shui and paid for the Morton's. The (theoretically) fu-man slipped a card into the bag with the salt. I tried another bow towards the clerk and another to the bow-headed dog, then left—still skirting the dog as much as possible.

In the car, I pulled out the salt and wiggled it, to show Gerri and Hank. "When a probably 300 year old guy—who knows about the Spirit World—tells you something is a protective against bad spirits, you get some of whatever he suggests ASAP!"

I almost called my companion with the red lips Rose… No, that still did not seem right. I almost felt like my agitation and the dim lighting had helped me grasp the name that I wanted to use in place of Gerri. I started to drive back to our squat. "He also slipped a card in there." I said. "I don't know what it is yet." Something like Rose … Another flower maybe… or Rose something…

Both passengers just blinked at me like I was an over-excited five year old. Gerri reached into the brown paper-bag, pulled out the card, and read:

Ariadne's

Sheaves & Leaves

Fine Rare Books and Teas

88 Eighth Ln

Athens, Ohio 45701

The rest of the ride was quite as we three pondered. By the time all seven of us were finally back at what we could dubiously call home, we were once again exhausted. The group agreed to discuss what had been learned at the liquor store the next morning and we crawled into our respective beddings and slumbered.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

The clouds, puffy, white and crisp, swam their lazy ways across the sky. The language of shapes was clearer than ever. I eavesdropped with my eyes.

I lay on my back on the cool grass of the hill in the warm air of the day.

_jingly-jing_

Up I popped. The musical notes compelling. Around I look, the source of the sound tantalizing.

_jingly-jing_ _jingly-jing_

The push cart preceded the boy up the hill's crest. Its chilled, sweet aromas came after.

"_Come, come,_" the boy's voice harmonized with the bell, "_you deserve a treat!"_

I am all rushing over. He is reaching in.

Offered up, four icy creamy delights on four sticks for holding. The choosing of only one is hard, so delicious they all must be.

Will it be the black and white circle? All swirled together, the spiral lines of a maze to play while eating.

Will it be the shiny bar? It has a candy coating shiny as silver, perhaps for reflecting?

Will it be the caramel? Brown disk with heads on each side of a coin, embossed in butterscotch: rich riches indeed.

Will it be the chocolate glove slipped over a sugary hand? The velvety texture is beckoning to me, probably touching flavors new.

I want…no, not that. It should be… no, wait. I'll…

Pick and live with it. Picking wrong is forever. Yet picking a treat cannot be bad and a treat is what is offered.

Glove and glass seem unfulfilling. Spiral and shekel both appeal.

Pick one, pick one, pick one. He won't wait forever, he never does. He may change the offer altogether.

I choose the two-faced ice-cream coin. The maze may have made a mess.

I bite in…

Day 3, Thursday, November 10th

I woke. It was dark in the empty room of the house we were stealing for the night, yet not so dark that I could not see enough to walk safely. I had no clock, so by the time I shuffled to the garage and checked the car radio's clock, I was sure it would have said shortly past 3:00 a.m. I was just as certain that returning to sleep would not place me back in the dream. Only nightmares linger to pounce again on a once wakeful prey. Dreams, even weird ice-cream dreams, just fade farther away as you drift once more to sleep. Especially when you know you picked right in the end and you really want to go back and taste the victory.

The dream treat had been a gift in more ways than one, I was sure of it. There was something significant about me in that imagery, the new tan elfin me. I still could not quite fit the piece into place, though. I had woke up pretty scratched up and exhausted two nights ago, then pushed myself way beyond reasonable endurance limits, and had not had a consecutive eight hours rest in that time either. So, I decided to try and get more rest and hope that my subconscious would do some more of the puzzle.

As I made my way back to the room I was sharing with Hank and Ken, I was careful to avoid stepping on or accidentally kicking them where they sprawled on the floor. I reflected on the relative merits of my inflated mattress verses the bed at the Knight's Inn, either were better than a sleeping bag on the floor—even a newly carpeted floor. Ultimately, I concluded that I seemed to have been improving my nocturnal lot. At least the faint smells of fresh carpeting and paint were superior to the old tobacco and industrial cleansers of the motel. I drifted off again.

When I did get fully up around dawn, I felt better than I had in what was probably seven years, definitely better than the last fifty-plus hours. I was not whole yet, though. Physically, I was alright, most of the scratches and bruising from when I awoke at the abandoned Kendal building were gone, or at least not bothering me anymore. Mentally, I felt as clear as I could be, while still having amnesia and a pile of mental puzzle pieces. Even so, some of those pieces had started to arrange themselves into potential patterns, a few even seemed to have clicked together. However, emotionally, or spiritually, or whatever, I was missing something. It was more than just not feeling comfortable contacting my family, or not really having my own identity. Although, the disconnected feeling of having an impersonator certainly added to the missing years. Mostly, I felt a craving, sort of like hunger, only less demanding. I only really noticed the sense of missing-ness when I found myself really wanting something.

Even so, I still felt a bit better in that respect, too. Like I did not have something, yet I was sure to get it soon. I felt like this was the biggest immediate take-away from my intense dream. I knew I had been feeling the subliminal longing the whole of the last two day, yet it was the dream that helped me focus on something so subtle.

I got something else back in the night as well. I still was not sure exactly what, or how, the metaphor of the dream fit in, yet. I just felt like taking chances need not be as risky, somehow, wish is not the same as feeling lucky per se. So, more subtle distinctions. At least, I also felt like the two semi-formed ideas were also connected, like when I filled up the pestering emptiness, then I would be able to change about luck. It was very tantalizing.

I pondered these thoughts as I dressed, then packed my air-bed—with the rest of my worldly possessions—into my Festiva's hatch. I was glad that none of my companions had actually taken me up on the offer to let one of them ride in the small compartment. Even with the few belongings I had, they took up most of the little hatch. I could only imagine one of the smaller people, like Gerri, Kyle, or Milton, all folded in on themselves to fit. I would never ask the pretty lady and I had one of my flashes that the hairy chap needed more freedom to stay marginally sane, however the thought of the grumpy old bag of skin all squished up did make me smile.

The air in the garage had the crisp chill of a November morning. However, the sky seemed to promise another clear and sunny day. If it was like the day before, the temperature would reach the low to mid seventies. The mild weather only continued to contribute to my concern that my surroundings were not real. In 2004 and earlier Ohio November days were rarely warmer than sixty degrees. So, I wondered if it was just my subconscious making the days seem nice.

It had felt weird moving through the unfurnished and unfamiliar house when my dream had woke me, like my comrades and I were haunting it or something. When I thought back on it in the daytime, I even, almost remembered any eerie luminance gently pushing the shadows around sluggishly. I was feeling better as I mentioned, yet I still did not really know what to believe. So, when I re-entered the house, it was nice that the others had at least started making some more domestic type noises .

The other six had started to queue up for coffee and microwave access. Hank and Gerri were not exactly chipper, but they were the two most alert and active of our collective. The rest of us were fairly zombie-like in shuffling to get showered and coffeed. I had showered before bed and had been moving around a bit more than most with my packing, however I was still just on the slightly more mobile side of zombie. At the other end, Milton was downright grim until he had drank at least one cup of the instant java. I nuked a breakfast and joined everyone on the nest room's floor.

I grimaced at the taste of my breakfast burrito and said. "Ugh! Has anyone had any better food luck?"

We all sat or leaned around what was meant to be a dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The kitchen and family rooms had better light, but we all still chose to avoid the large windows in those areas. Even though the windows looked out onto the half acre back yard, there was still a chance a neighbor may see and report seeing movement in our purloined shelter.

"Apples are fine," Ken pointed a finger covered in a webbing of pale scars towards the fridge, from where he stood nursing his sturdy-plastic cup of coffee, and replied, "as long as you peel them first."

"I hrrm just washed rrirr mine," mumbled Kyle, holding up his half eaten apple and smiling, "and it's rrrreal good."

The hairy-muscular man squatted in another corner, with feet lat on the carpet and knees near his shoulder. I had the impression Kyle was protecting his food from view most of the time. Smiling made Kyle's long whiskers quiver. I could not tell if his speech affectation was from before or after Kendal had done whatever they had done to us. Either way, it sounded like the hirsute fellow was gargling marbles when he spoke.

"Yeah," I reflected, "and the fish was okay, if you could avoid the breading." I settled onto the carpeting and leaned my shoulders against the wall. "So, what are we thinking, don't eat the outside of something unless its' been washed off?" My head had been overwhelmed with fairytale logic since speaking to Mr. Shui and my dream.

Milton snorted, somewhat incredulous. "Or we figure out what they all have in common. 'Cause the coffee I got fresh ground at Starbuck's was fine, but this pre-packed stuff is even more crap than I remembered it.""

"I think we're just not used to eating this kind of food." Hank offered from where he stood near the doorway, granola bar in one earthen hand and red-plastic cup of juice in the other. "I mean I don't know how or where, but it's pretty clear we really have been gone seven years. Wherever we were must not have had normal food." He crunched into the breakfast bar, unfazed.

"Or we were on IV drips." Ken suggested.

I realized that the haggard looking fencer had probably been thinking along the same lines as my Total Recall scenario, or possibly Awakenings. It reminded me that I still had not found anything to successfully disprove my idea that I might still be on IV at Kendal.

"I don't know." Gerri said thoughtfully. "If it was all food then maybe, but we're only reacting to things with man-made chemicals. That's why washing the thin layer of wax and pesticides off the apples works and why the more pre-packaged it is the worse it tastes." She was the first to have finished breakfast and was doing some basic muscle stretches in one corner of the room.

I noticed that I was not the only person that had to adjust when catching sight of the auburn-haired bombshell flexing. And somehow, even though I was apparently the only one in the group that had bought more than one outfit, Gerri looked freshly pressed. The rest of us, looked like we either slept in our clothes or pulled them out of backpacks, which is what had happened. Either Gerri new some ROTC trick, or the firmness of her body pressed her clothes from the inside out.

Milton and I liked Gerri's reasoning. The others did not think it precluded Hanks theory. Except for Leroy, who did not join the conversation. We could not know if we would require time to reacclimatize, or if we actually could not process the chemically enhanced food as we once had. The previous two days had not effected anyone's digestion, but as a precaution we agreed that avoiding the most obviously manufactured foods would be a good idea. Although that did not stop Hank from suggesting pizza at every other meal time. If the lump of terracotta ever had taste buds, they were gone by that point.

As we spoke of chemicals and pesticides on plants, it hit me. Gerri was Tegan, Tegan… something, maybe something to do with roses… Definitely Tegan, though, it was so right. Of course, I might have still just been mad.

Plus, we all still had lots of more important things to do. So, I chose to keep the revelation to myself, until there seemed like a more natural moment… And I could be more confident that I would not be mocked.

Hank's main focus during breakfast-share-time was to talk about last night's weird dreams. I was again surprised at how interested so many of the other five were to go along with discussing their dreams, both because dreams seemed so private to me and because listening to other people's dreams tended to be so damn boring. Do to that second point, I do not really recall the specifics of any of my companion's nocturnal imageries.

Although, I was unsettled at how closely everyone's dreams matched my own. At the IHOP we had vaguely similar themes, at this meal the only differences seemed to be the specific setting and gift giver. An observations the others also came to and that threatened to keep them discussing all day long.

Without sharing the details of my own subconscious experience, I tried to apply some perspective. "I agree that it's totally strange that everyone seemed to have had the same core elements in their dreams: figure of authority or power-grandparent, boss, master, etcetera." I nodded or pointed to the person that had provided the particular detail, if as best as I could recall. "An offering of a choice of four objects. The objects were always variants of a maze—tangled vines, child's toy, knotwork-embroidered hanky," again I gestured to the relevant people, "a coin—poker chip, wooden nickel, smiley faced pancake—a mirror—foil candy wrapper, shallow bowl of water, an actual mirror even—and a glove—catcher's mitt, mechanical hand, child's drawing of a "turkey", and so on." I held my palms upward. "Otherwise the individual dreams were themed radically different—trapped in a garden hedge, trading at a desert bizarre, and so forth."

I tried to meet each person's eyes, "Look, we have just gone through, scratch that, are going through essentially the same traumatic experiences and since we're doing a lot of the same things to cope. Heck, we've even banded together to squat in this place." I shrugged. "It just seems most plausible that our subconscious minds might make similar metaphors to cope with it all."

Privately, I also filed away that Ken was Wade. I had the thought when the weather-worn man had described the mechanical trinkets that his dream tinker had offered. Wade was a shorting of a longer pseudonym, I felt confident, yet it was as right as Tegan was Gerri. I continued to mentally file these names away and they fairly quickly became the primary names that I thought of when dealing with these oddly familial strangers. Within a few days, like having a second language, I had to consciously swap in their original names for these safer ones when addressing them.

I only partially believed the theory I had presented. However, my gambit had worked all the same and our conversation moved on to the knowledge collect at Shui's liquor store and goals for the day. The Information from Mr. Shui was largely received with less enthusiasm than the dreams and passed over quickly.

I was a little disappointed that we had not explored some theories about the Shui data, but pleased to forgo it in favor of the more actionable goal of securing more stable accommodations. For the house hunt Hank, Kyle, and I would use my car to check the net at the library, as well as bulletin boards at grocery stores and the university.

As we discussed how to approach new housing, other areas of interest also cropped up. Gerri (Tegan) looked at a card she had taken from her green and blue plaid shirt-front pocket, "I'm wondering if there might be some help for us at this Sheaves & Leaves place."

"Like a copy of House Squatting for Dummies?" Milton suggested with gruff, dry, sarcasm.

"Or," Gerri (Tegan) rolled her sparkling emerald eyes, "there might be somebody there that knows more about are situation. There were a lot of other people in that damn study." She shrugged one shoulder as she re-pocketed the card (I strained to watch her rosy lips and the location of her alabaster fingers). "Maybe one of them has been out longer and has gone through this all already. Or, yes, there might be a book that will help. The card does say the books are rare and that is the kind of help that we need."

"Hey, T… um, Gerri," I interjected, "I don't want to derail the topic or anything, but did you put on, uh, make-up this morning?" I corrected myself from saying "new make-up" as the woman had already made it clear that she was not in the habit of wearing cosmetics.

"No, why?" Gerri (Tegan)'s voice was hesitant.

"Well," I circled a finger around my own face, "your tattoos or whatever that look like make-up are different colors than the other day."

At O'Bleness Gerri (Tegan) had mint-green eye-shadow and matt-rose lips. In the purloined house, the shapely ladies lips were a darker glossy-red with a much bluer mascara. Gerri (Tegan) hurried to the bathroom mirror to verify and returned agreeing that the cosmetics appearance had changed, yet she still could not manually remove or alter it.

"Is it, like mood make-up?" Hank asked from where he leaned against the wall, square thumbs in his jean pockets.

"I don't think so." Gerri (Tegan) replied. "But you all would be able to tell better. I'm mostly just neutral right now, let me know if the colors change again at some point."

I spent a moment trying to fix in my mind the hues of the woman's impossible cosmetics. I was pretty sure her nail polish had also changed to match her newer glossy petite-bow lips.

Then the topic returned to Sheaves & Leaves and it was eventually settled that the athletic auburn-haired damsel and Ken (Wade) would take a bus over to the book/tea shop, find out what they could, and report back to the rest of the group. I was, of course, jealous about not getting to go to the bookstore, yet was not willing to entrust my Festiva to anyone else and the chauffer duty was necessary if we wanted to stop breaking into our sleeping quarters, sooner rather than later.

At some point Milton had also produced a small card betwixt his spindly fingers and mentioned, "Yeah, I should probably check on this Magog character too."

"Who?" Ken (Wade) furrowed his wind-burnt brow.

"When I signed for my money." The hard-boiled narrator explained. "I implied to the Alstroemeria dame that I might be interested in doing some more of this volunteer type work." I swear, he said dame. "I figured it might be a lead back to Doc Anwynn, assuming that birds of a feather might know each other, as it were." He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention. "So, she gave me the name Magog and an address here in town."

After a little more discussion Leroy agreed to tag along with the wrinkly old man with a limp. Magog seemed like the errand with the most potential for danger and our large, stoic black ally could act as body-guard for Milt.

Along with establishing our solid goals for the near future, our gang also talked about Solana and Mike. On the one hand, the creepy-girl and the cloud-head were adults and should be responsible for themselves, with due consideration given to her having attacked a nurse and his having made an asinine decision regarding his money. On the other hand, both of them had come out of the Maze on the Edge with us (assume Shui's version of events to be accurate) and we all felt a little… well, protective was not the right word… we felt proprietary. So, whenever any of us had a chance, we planned to stop by the hospital and IHOP to see if either Solana or Mike were around. If nothing else we could give the unnaturally thin and pale woman a list of our contact information. Mike had gotten the phone numbers before he stormed out of the IHOP, so I figured he would probably contact us, if he wanted our company.

We were all successful in our outings, although, my team was most fruitful. We picked up a campus paper and Kyle read it on the way to the library. There were some students looking to sublease a house off campus. Hank called and set up to meet them right away. We wound up not even bothering with the library.

It turned out the tenants had only just got the posting printed that morning. The house was a 3 bed, 1 bath, ranch style with attached garage, finished basement. It came with central air, a full set of kitchen appliances (including dishwasher), and a clothes washer and dryer. It worked out to about $150/mo per person—for the seven of us (less if Solana or Mike show up). And we could move in as soon as we paid and signed the lease. The tenants were even legitimately going through the landlord for the sublet. So we would not have to pretend to be them. We would still have to pretend to only be three tenants, though, which was still far better than breaking into unoccupied homes.

Plus, even if my allies could not follow through with such a simple deception, it would still probably take the landlord a couple of weeks to work it out and evict us. By which time I at least, fully intended to have gotten my life on a new track and better track that would not need to rely on such shady deals.

The location was on a quarter acre plot, surrounded by slight variations of the same kind of homes. It was only a mile, or so, from the town's center. So, an easy walk to the library, hospital, and shopping, for those without a vehicle.

Overall, it was an amazing deal. I felt like the luck of finding the place so easily might have had something to do with my dream, yet could not even imagine expressing that to my companions. On the other hand, We did like that the folks that were leasing did not have a lot of questions. In retrospect that was probably one of many little caution signs we should have read. Even so, we did not want to start asking too many questions of our own for fear they might start doing the same. As it was, the students did not even ask for any identification from any of us—another one of those caution signs, most likely.

Hank, Kyle, and I signed the lease on the spot and covered the initial rent. We were confident the others would be okay with the house. We were also confident we would get reimbursed for their shares—at least Hank was confident and convinced me with his go-along-jovial attitude.

Signing the paperwork gave me that thrum-twinge feeling again and this time I was dealing with a female (the girlfriend of one of the other two male tenants). I had been concerned that Kendal had done something to my brain chemistry that made me feel weird when touching or dealing with other men. This strange reaction to signing the lease pretty much disproved that hypothesis. I had a couple of other theories to test, so I kept that mental puzzle piece handy.

The previous occupants had already moved into new locations and cleared out all of their stuff from our new digs. So all we had to do was start moving in. I spent the rest of the day playing taxi (and feeling like a soccer dad) for the rest of my house-mates; driving their stuff over from the squat and taking them to and from places (Sheaves & Leaves, the library, grocery store, Wal-Mart, even O'Bleness Memorial—looking for Solana). We did finally all chip in equal shares to co-purchased pots and pans, food, dishes, cutlery, cleaning and laundry supplies.

I was a little conflicted. If my trio had done poorly, then I probably would have spent the day researching to my heart's content. As it was we were so successful so early, I did not get to have the fun of browsing and looking things up. I would have driven around either way, so at least, that was a present wash. It left me wondering if the luck my dream promised was really involved, or if it would prove to be a scales-must-balance kind of luckiness.

The relief that everyone else in our party felt, as each was informed, of our new, much more legal, living quarters was palpable. Except for Leroy, who starred with luminous yellow slit-eyes, nodded slowly, and eventually said "cool". As with Kyle's garbled speaking, I wondered if whatever Kendal had done made the large cat-eared man so aloof, or if they had just taken a cue from his original cat-like nature.

Milton and Leroy were questionably successful, in that they had found Mike somewhere during their travels. The grass-stained lad had joined the rest of us in eating of our food, as Milton's guest. I tried to be polite and not let my mooch-alarms get the better of me. On the other hand, our group now shared expenses and it was not just Milton supporting the fool who refused over a thousand dollars a couple of days earlier. I settled for ignoring the cloud-haired dope.

Milton and Leroy were also the least successful of our three teams, in regards to their stated goals. While the eight of us sat together for dinner, on the carpeting of our new rental-home's living room, the scraggly burn survivor recounted, "I knew the address looked weird to start with." Referring to the location Inca Alstroemeria had provided. "I figured it would be an office or municipal building or something. Nope," he waved his elongated fingered hand in front of himself, as if erasing a white-board, "it was a bridge—under the bridge to be precise. There's a little cardboard, bum village down there on the riverbank, with maybe twenty guys. There are a few oil drum fires and lots of make-shift box houses. Most of the…" Milton rolled his plain brown eyes as if exasperated with political correctness. "inhabitants, were watching a pair of their comrades fight over a hunk of meat."

Most of us looked incredulous.

"I swear it." Milton raised his right hand, like a row of pencils, and looked to Leroy.

The big felinoid-guy just nodded and chewed, sitting off to the side with his feet folded under his knees and a paper plate balanced in the bowl of his lap. I am not even sure Leroy heard any of us most of the time, although one of his fur covered triangular-ears did twitch at each new speaker or other sound.

"Anyway," Milton rolled his mud-colored eyes again and went on, "I head to one of the guys not watching the fight and tell him I wanted to see Magog. He looks sideways at the largest cluster of boxes and asks me if I have an appointment." Milt shakes his head slightly and excessive skin continued to move for a second longer than his head. "I can't tell if the guy's serious or crazy. So, I say I don't have an appointment. The guy gets a twinkle in his eye and says, 'Okay buddy, good luck. Magog's over there, sleeping' he points to the boxes he's been eyeing. So, I went over cautiously."

"Leroy," he said with a sarcastic look towards the engineer, "kept me covered from the edge of the camp."

The black man still seemed unfazed, staring at Milton for a moment. Again, I wondered if Leroy even heard the old man's comment, or it he was just off in some daydream world.

Milton huffed out a breath that might have been an exasperated sigh. "As I got closer to the box pile, I could hear snoring getting louder. I rounded a large refrigerator box and saw two huge bare-feet sticking out of the box. They had to be bare, because I'm sure no one can make shoes that big." His eyes widened with the memory. "I looked around and the guy I had spoke to gave me a nod and a thumbs up. He's also called a couple of his buddies over to watch me. I may not always know etiquette, but I know when to be diplomatic. I left the area. I walk to the corner liquor store and bought a couple of bottles of nice cheap diplomacy." Milton seemed to remember his own drink and took a couple of deep swallows from his Coke bottle.

The rest of us chuckled. Ken (Wade) even had to put down his cup of wine to avoid spilling it.

"When I got back, the onlookers where surprise to see me. I went over and prodded Magog's foot with my boot. When he finally lumbered up and out of his box, he stood close to eight feet tall."

I held in a new laugh at the mental image of the Tallwind having to crane his neck to see who he was speaking to…. Tallwind?! Milt's better name was something Tallwind. Something about the implied height of his name and the described size of Magog had triggered the right association and that partial puzzle piece lined up in my mind.

Milton (now Tallwind) had continued with his tale, "He stared at me with his one eye—and he wasn't missing one. The one peeper that the giant guy had was centrally located with no room for another. The ground might have shook when he rumbled, 'What you want?!', or I may have just been swaying from the shock wave that slammed into me."

Another extra wiggly head shake. "Whatever the case, I held out the first bottle and Magog took it with a grin. He polished off the whole thing in a few swallows. From there I tried to ask a few questions, but honestly, I could barely remember what I went there for. Staring up at a real life Cyclops is intimidating." He took another large drink of Coke.

"Mostly," Milton concluded, "Magog seems to be a sort of crime lord. He said he could employ me. He implied lots of strong arm kind of work. If all of this fairy land stuff is real," his twiddled his stick-like fingers in the air, "then I get the feeling like Magog is a low level version of Anwynn. Like a Lieutenant type compared to the Doc's General status."

The burn scarred Shamus reminded us all that Dr. Aanwynn was the Kendal researcher that had undersigned all of the contracts that we had signed. The contracts that had apparently allowed the researcher to mutate us and steal over seven years of our lives away. It was useful to get that reminder occasionally, at least for me. I generally blamed Kendal and thoughts of the evil doctor tended to slip out of my head.

Reviewing my mental puzzle, yet again, I had no idea if Anwynn was also responsible for the clones, or spirit-eaters, or whatever they were. By that point I still did not know what any of it meant—weird vivid dreams, alchemical specialist accounts archivists, probable fu creatures, seven missing years, and so forth—or even if there was a meaning to know. Or why any of us were involved, assuming there was some reason there as well. Even so, I was pretty confident the whole bizarre affair was real. Thinking that scared me most of all, since that could mean that I really was crazy and I was talking myself into not realizing it.

Gerri (Tegan) and Ken (Wade) also shared the fruits of their exploration/debriefed the rest of us. The evening had taken a distinct story time vibe. However, since it was dark out and no-one had bought a TV or radio yet, there was not much else we could do.

"Ariadne's," the fencing instructor said, after wiping his thin mouth on a paper towel, "that is, Sheaves & Leaves, seems to be a meeting place and private club for.. what are we calling ourselves? Spirit-touched?" He glanced around for consensus. The rest of us nodded or shrugged indifference.

"Yeah," Gerri (Tegan) added "It's like a converted Victorian style house. Aisles full of old books and in one room is a coffee and tea shop. But we did not exactly see any confirmation that any of the people there were like us."

"I don't know," said Ken (Wade), wagging his plastic fork towards Gerri (Tegan), "there was something weird about the girl behind the desk and there was the brass around the inner lip of the doorway, a solid band of the metal, etched with lots of different languages. I guessed they all said the same thing, but we only recognized one that may have been Latin or Greek. It said 'Terra Nullis', which I figure means No Man's Land… Plus, there was the membership thing."

"Membership?" I prompted eagerly. The talk of old books had really grabbed my attention.

"There are dues to get in the private book collection." Gerri (Tegan) said around a mouthful of salad.

"And a membership contract to sign." Said Ken (Wade) and we all got a little tense. "And the contract is odd."

"Odd how?" asked Mike, his thick sandwich held halfway to his mouth.

"Well, we both studied it pretty close," answered Ken (Wade) and Gerri (Tegan) nodded agreement, "and there's no super tiny, fine print. But there was some odd phrasing. The oddest bit of a line about 'part of anything created on the premises, belongs to Ariadne's'."

"That," agreed Gerri (Tegan) further, "and the lengths of membership. They have day, week, month, and annual membership fees, Plus lunar, by solstice, and every nine days. What is that about nine days?" She shook her head in mild confusion, the ends of her auburn waves just long enough to sweep invisible motes from her set shoulders.

"What do you get for joining?" I asked and took a bite of my own salad. Thoroughly washed veggies, some cheese, and a hand mixed oil and vinegar dressing was delicious, at least compared to the chemical flavors of my most recent meals.

Ken (Wade) answered with a one shoulder shrug. "You get access to the rare books room."

I perked up even further at that news: books mean research. If Ken (Wade) and Mr. Shui were right, then it seemed like we were not the first people something like this amnesiatic/lost time/physically altered thing had happened too. Also, the bookstore membership deal implied that the weirdness was not a particularly overall. Therefore, someone must have recorded some useful information. On the other hand, the situation must be rare, so where better to start than a rare books room for spirit-touched only? Then again, Sheaves & Leaves could just be a group of people willing to foster and prey on the delusional; our scouts had not exactly gotten to the bottom of anything on their first visit.

Gerri (Tegan) had also given me a book she bought from the public section: a collection of folk remedies and superstitions. She said it was the best she could find for mystic uses of salt.

I saw the extra twinkle in the beauty's emerald eyes and knew she was trying to tease me for my over reaction at the liquor store the night before. I did not care to rise to the bait, for two reasons. Firstly, it was seeming more and more likely that a book like the one she handed to me would be far more valuable than I would have previously predicted. Secondly, the upward quirk to Gerri (Tegan)'s cupid mouth revealed the hint of adorable dimples in her milky smooth cheeks that filled me with much more positive emotions.

In turn, I reflected briefly on how I had not smiled in what seemed like forever. Even the accomplishments of securing a car, bank account, and home had been moments of relief, not joy. Nor had I seen any of my allies truly happy. We might have a rueful chuckle, or make some comment for levity, yet it had still been far too soon for happiness.

We wrapped-up our conversation by agreeing that we all needed jobs. As I had reminded everyone, "The seven of us that agreed to this living arrangement," I purposefully did not look in Mike's direction, "each needed $150 for December's rent. Since that's a few weeks away, I'm assuming that shouldn't be too hard to come by for any of us." I looked at Hank and Leroy. "The extra cost for communal supplies might get high, though. So, we'll need to revisit what everyone owes at the end of the month as well."

The two massive men I had singled out had already proven how much food they could put away just on their own. Plus, I was considering the higher cost fresh and unprocessed ingredients.

As the evening wore on we all settled down to bed in our new place. Gerri (Tegan) got the smallest bedroom to herself, which was jealousy inducing, but she was the only female and it seemed necessary, or polite, or whatever. Kyle, Milton (Tallwind), and Leroy had one of the second unfurnished bedrooms. Mike was left to sleep in the living room, I think someone pitied him enough to loan the moocher a blanket or two. I went to sleep, reading my new book by the glow of moonlight, through the window (bare of blinds or curtains) in the third bedroom that I shared with Ken (Wade) and Hank. I was still the only one of us to have purchased an air mattress, so I felt quite regal above my sleeping comrades.


	5. Chapter 5

Argents … _Buzzes_… Verdants… _Hums_… Azures… _Rumbles_…

Sables… Indigos… _Sussurations_… Crimsons... _Thrums_… Golds…

Day 4: Friday, November 11th

That morning I rose almost relaxed within my sleeping bag floating on the mattress of air. I full night's sleep with only the vaguest hazy sense of having possibly dreamt. In the room I had woke once in the night and by the dim moonlight saw that Hank too was stirring, fiddling with a small object.

The big coarse-coated man noticed me and whispered, "It's three o'clock." He folded his phone shut and laid it next to him on the carpet. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I reported with groggy relief, "not even sure why I woke up."

"Yeah," Hank nodded his remarkably rectangular head, "me too. Probably just habit from the last couple of nights." He yawned and rolled onto his side. "Probably should just try… to get… back… to…"

I am not sure if Hank fell asleep before finishing his sentence, or if I drifted off before hearing it's completion.

I was again one of the first awake when dawn did come—come and gone onto full morning in fact. One person was quicker and they had usurped the single bathroom for their shower. I made use of my time waiting to do my laundry in the machines in our new finished, albeit unfurnished, basement. I made a mental note to buy more pajamas as I stood in my one flannel set and loaded all the sum total of the rest of my wardrobe into the washer. I started the machine with the hottest hot water setting, then smiled and turned it to cold only after I heard Tegan (Gerri)'s yelp from the shower upstairs.

By the time the redheaded bombshell had finished bathing, the rest of the household was awake—largely thanks to her involuntary and vocal response to rapidly chilled, then heated, water. As yet another affirmation of my luck, Tegan (Gerri) had been able to regulate her shower temperature again and had forgotten about the prank by the time she had finished washing and dressed.

I had also started a large pot of oatmeal cooking, that Tallwind (Milton) finished off, while I took my turn in the bathroom. Oatmeal with rinsed dried fruits and almonds was as tasty as my salad had been the night before. So, worst case scenario I would have to become vegetarian. Although, my Tetley's tea still had a hint of unnecessary perfuminess. However, Tegan (Gerri)'s theory that chemically treated or processed foods were the real problem seemed to be panning out. Therefore I was looking forward to getting some organic meat and trying it out for lunch or dinner.

We had only invested in disposable plates and bowls, except for some sturdy plastic mugs for hot beverages. Thus, we sat around the furniture free living room floor again to consume our communal breakfast from red-plastic bowls with white-plastic spoons. Everyone reported an equally dream and nightmare free slumber, although a couple of the others had also woke briefly around three.

"Well," I asserted with a flourish of my spoon, "since we now have clothes, reliable shelter, and a reasonable amount of food, we just have far less anxiety. Less anxious means less fuel to drive weird dreams. It totally fits with what I said yesterday."

My companions faces told me that they all remained unconvinced. Admittedly I agreed with them. I was just in a good mood and trying to keep people thinking positive thoughts.

After confirming a lack of dreams, I was somewhat elated when Tegan (Gerri) pushed the conversation to the issue of everyone getting jobs. I had expected that the others would forget about our basic future needs as much as they seemed to have forgotten about their old lives and families.

Which I should admit was probably an overly harsh comment. I certainly was not talking about my family, my old life, or the imposter that seemed to be ruining it. The topics were embarrassing and painful, so that was probably true for many of my allies as well. Although, not all of them, in hindsight I am certain that a couple of them had lost far too much of their humanity to be concerned with such aspects of who they had used to be.

"It's going to be kinda hard to get hired," Wade (Ken) rasped matter-of-factly, "without IDs and social security cards."

"Pft." Tallwind (Milton) snorted into his coffee. "All kinds of places will hire under the table, especially to avoid having to deal with paying taxes or insurance." He slowly flapped his right hand, the long digits like the skeleton of a Japanese hand-fan. "Pretty much any independent bar or restaurant will hire servers or dishwashers on the down low… Any small business really. Generally a mom-and-pop set up would like to verify that a new employee is reliable before they have to go through all the governmental paperwork."

"Also," Hank stood with his rocky-fists on his square-ish hips near the kitchen, "individuals are always looking for limited time odd-jobs. Like deck building, or weather proofing their windows."

I made a mental note to show the one-time fireman Craig's List.

Thankfully that had effectively resolved our gang's what to do next discussion. In short order we all decided to return to the library and avail ourselves of the most recent want ads on file. I was also thankful that Hank and Tegan (Gerri) were OCD enough to insist on gathering up everyone's dirty plastic-ware into a trash bag after every meal.

Due to our rental place's proximity to downtown Athens, it was only a little over a mile or so to walk to the public library; the eight of us headed there en mass. The sky was overcast, yet not so dark as to threaten rain, nor was there any scent of impending precipitation. Although, that did depend on how close I was to Wade (Ken)'s damp-leaf aroma-aura, or Tallwind (Milton)'s spring-time rain smell. The temperature promised to be cooler than the previous couple of days, but still comfortable.

Everyone else still had their weird auras of sounds, or smells, as we had discovered on that first day at O'Bleness Memorial. None of them seemed to notice it at all in themselves, yet perceived it in others as easily as I did. Nor did any of them express any sensation from their respective aura, like tingling or nausea. They all just remained a sort of consistent bubble around each person, offering a sort of extended presence in close quarters.

On the other hand, Tegan (Gerri)'s cosmetics had again mysteriously altered. "Yes," she had said when I pointed it out again, "I checked the mirror several times yesterday, like when I was so happy that we could move out of that other place and when I knew I was getting tired. There was no change. But when I put on my new outfit this morning," she waved a porcelain hand in front of her face, 'it was all just a little different."

"Convenient." Wade (Ken) had observed.

"Yeah," Tegan (Gerri) breathed sarcastically, "because I always wanted to look like I was going partying twenty-four seven." Which effectively put an end to that topic.

Our group had stayed on the sidewalks and tried to stay roughly together. At one point we passed by some storefront or other, from which a mother with a squalling toddler was emerging. Before any of us knew it Leroy had turned around and briskly walked the other way. I could tell that the normally indifferent panther-man had become agitated and twitchy, although not why. Wade (Ken) had speed-walked to catch the larger man and try to check on him, however that just weirded out the scar covered swordsman.

After a minute or so of our group walking one way and Leroy another, Wade (Ken) sorted out his mind enough to confide, "He, looked feral. His slit pupils had gone almost all black and he had a mouth full of sharpened teeth." He waved his scar hashed hand up and down in front of his mouth. "I mean they were all pointy, like needle sharp. I didn't think they were like that did you?" he ask us all generally.

The rest of us shook our heads. Hank rubbed the back of his neck, a faint stone on stone grinding noise could be heard, "He hardly ever says anything, so I can't say as I ever got a good look."

"His teeth are probably why he doesn't talk," asserted Tallwind (Milton) as he hobbled along. The wrinkly man's burns did not seem to impede his speed very much, yet he did favor his unscarred right side noticeably.

The discussion and sight of Leroy stalking away reminded me that he was Rai. Again I knew it was another abbreviation. Again I saw an image of my companion in heavy foliage… and I felt like I had spent a lot of time following the big man-beast… Of course, I was also still concerned that I might just have been making these pseudonyms up in my mind. I was even starting to feel self conscious for not mentioning them earlier, which made me less inclined to bring them up as time went on,

Wade (Ken), Tegan (Gerri), Tallwind (Milton), Mike, Kyle, Hank, and I continued on to the library. Still chatting as we plodded along.

"Now that we have an address," Tegan (Gerri) suggested, "we should be able to get actual replacement IDs. At least it should be easier." She marched more than walked in the lead—It was more of a stride or strut really and she had selected a waist length jean jacket so I found myself fixatedly following her toned behind.

"Replacement IDs," Tallwind (Milton), distorted hands shoved deep into his pockets and head hunched down, grumbled, "still need proof of residence and a birth certificate. Just telling the DMV where you live is not good enough." He walked a little behind me and Tegan (Gerri), next to Hank.

"Sure," said Wade (Ken), from my other side, "but proof of residence could just be a bill with the person's name and the correct address… That will take time. Especially since we could only put a few names on the electric bill at one time. " that was the only utility not included with our rent.

"We could certainly swap names each month," suggested Hank, over his broad shoulder, "couldn't we?"

"That's what I meant by more time." Said Wade (Ken), rolling his dull grey eyes, a little exasperated.

"And it doesn't help with the birth certificate." Added Tallwind (Milton).

"Alright, alright," said Tegan (Gerri), holding up both elegant hands briefly, "I said it should be easier not easy."

I sighed inwardly, embarrassed about what I was going to admit, as well as disappointed that I would have to give away something I had actually put effort into. "If anyone's interested, I know where you can get decent fake IDs. They are at least enough to get you by. Maybe get a job, if the place isn't too picky."

A couple of them were interested. That's when I remembered to show them my fake drivers license. Since I had given up the source, I figured I may as well share the results, the fake ID's photo and how it showed my unchanged face. There was a lot of speculation as to if it was just because of the mechanics of the camera, or if there was some other factor, that caused my original features to appear. Would the pictures show everyone as they had been? Also, I explained how Gary the Forger had verified that what he saw in the photo matched what he saw when he looked at me. So, it does seem that all the normal people really do just see our old selves.

The revelation rippled through our little party. As most of them had such extreme alterations to their looks, it became clear that they had been leery of applying for IDs or work or just dealing with normal people at all. So, the new knowledge helped to get everyone more fully on board with our job hunt plan. On the other hand, I had to stifle my bafflement that in the course of three days, none of them had been observant enough to realize that no-one else was reacting to them as if they looked as strange as they truly looked. It was another of many little moments that made me believe that my colleague's minds had been more chaotic messes than my own and that they were having far more trouble sorting out what few mental puzzle pieces they did have left.

Since my personal job plan was to find a place to tend bar, I did not waste time at the library searching classifieds. Instead, I printed out the forms for a replacement birth certificate and Social Security Card.

I still did not have any ideas for how to get my shadow-eater-look-a-like to stop using my real identity. However, I did know I needed to start taking my life back, as much as I could. So, getting accurate legal identification paperwork was my first small step. A step that would take a few weeks for the certificate and card to arrive, which should allow plenty of time for me to come up with the next few steps.

I think I noticed Tegan (Gerri) also getting the same forms. I am uncertain that the freckled beauty was the only other one of us interested in their official identifications, I just felt it was too personal to ask any of them. Or, more accurately, I did not want to provide them any grounds on which to stand and ask me about my papers. I should point out that this was in no small part due to my allies tendency to chaotically gang question the presenter of a new idea.

At one point, Tegan (Gerri) also acted strange—at least a new and different kind of strange than any of us had experience so far. Each member of our collective had taken to sort of semi-regularly making visual confirmation as to where the other members were. Ostensibly we were concerned with group safety, although I think the six or seven (since Mike was there) men tended to track the one incredibly attractive woman disproportionately more than each other. Whatever the case a few of us had looked over to where our auburn-haired ally was at a set of shelves in an out of the way corner. Tegan (Gerri) stood stock still at the shelves, staring at the bit of space between the top of the books and the shelf above them. From my angle I could just make out the back of a teen boy's head where he sat at a solo computer terminal on the other side of the stack of shelves from Tegan (Gerri).

Hank went over and gently guided the petite lady back to where our group was gathered. Although, by then Kyle, Mike, and Tallwind (Milton) had jumped up and scuttled outside for a while. The three men looked flustered as they exited, yet none of them mentioned why.

Tegan (Gerri)'s normally milk white cheeks were also flushed a deep pink. In fact the usually over-controlled ROTC cadet seemed blissed out, like she had taken E. When Wade (Ken), Hank, and I tried to ask if Tegan (Gerri) was okay and what had happened, the effect that she was under made her seem like a teenager that had been caught while high and was trying to maintain a passable impression of sober—and failing at the impression.

"Did that kid give you something?" I asked incredulously as I nodded to the teenager we had seen her spying on.

"No…" Tegan (Gerri) shook her head more vigorously than the response warranted. "No-no-no, nope, not at all." She took a deep breath and seemed to be consciously avoiding looking at the boy in the corner. "Everything is fine. I am fine. No one gave me anything, so we can just drop it. Okay?"

It seemed like that was the best we were going to get from the pretty lady, so we dropped it and finished out our research. We had mostly been done at the library anyway, so it was just a matter of logging everyone out (including the trio that had needed air so badly).

I led the other six to Gary the Forger's place. Gary was exceptionally pleased with me for providing so many new customers and I got the impression I might be able to get a discount if I wanted another ID for myself. Although, the petty criminal was a little thrown when Wade (Ken) asked for a fake birth certificate and Tallwind (Milton) suggested a passport.

"Um, yeah, dude…" the man's bloodshot eyes looked at my companions with a mixture of pleading and pity. "Like, there's not a lot of call for that here in town" He scratched his head. "I mean, like, I might be able to get in touch with a guy, but that'll take some time. And it'll probably be… like, a lot of cash, right? 'Cause that's like special order shit, right?"

My allies settled for fake drivers licenses. Additionally, as far as I know, they all just got fake versions of their real IDs, which I took as a sign that undermined my notions of the importance of our given names and supported the theory that these other names (Tegan, Wade, and so on) were all in my head. Since even though I kept getting flashes of insight into alternate names for each of my co-Kendal survivors, none of them seemed to have any hesitation with using their true names—the ones they had signed over to Dr. Anwynn. Maybe I was just making up the pseudonyms as an extension of my own failing mental health. Even with this doubt to the validity of the alternate names, I still could not stop myself from thinking of my house-mates by these pseudonyms while using their given names aloud.

Tegan (Gerri) went off to get a bus pass, explaining, "If I do get hired somewhere, then I can't be sure Tom will always be available to drive me to or from."

I was deeply appreciative of the lovely woman's consideration. Wade (Ken) and Tallwind (Milton) went with the redhead, although I was fairly certain that the limping wrinkly one just wanted to go wherever the pretty lady was.

I thought, hirsute Kyle had tagged along with the bus-pass crew as well, yet learned later that he had headed off alone. When next we saw the well built man, that evening, he was driving a cab. As it turned out, Kyle had asked Gary to mark his fake ID as a licensed chauffer.

Something about the quiet, solo way the hairy, well-toned man got his job and transport, brought part of his other name to me. At first I thought Wolf, or Lone-Wolf, but quickly amended it to Runner, as in runs like a lone wolf. Just as frustrating as all the other false names I had recalled, or imagined, or whatever, I knew there was more to Runner (Kyle)'s, yet Runner was all of which I was sure. It was that quality of only partial surety that kept me believing that I was right to keep using the pseudonyms. If I was actually making them all up in my mind, then I should get the whole name all at once, or at least have concocted replacement names for all of my allies at the same time.

In the meantime rocky Hank, cloud-haired Mike, and I had made our own trip to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves. I had been itching to visit the book seller since having heard about it. My oddly earthen compatriot seemed to want to come more to make sure that I was not alone than any real interest in the destination. Mike, on the other hand, seemed sincerely interested in the books until we got there, then I suspected he had just wanted a free ride to the part of town.

Even though Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) had described it, the tea house/bookstore was odder than I had imagined. Strangely, it was odder for its normalcy, so every little quirk seemed to stand out more. Or, perhaps I was just more nervous than usual, in anticipation of finding some real answers. The porch was unsettling, though.

Ariadne's appears as a converted two story Victorian home. It's back is to the river and neighbors are a field on one side and an old tool and dye factory on the other. The bookseller's parking lot is gravel and has room for maybe a dozen vehicles (at the time only an old white Ford Pick-up and an even older and beat up Cadillac were parked there). A stand alone two car garage was closed and set back to one side. The shrubbery looked more lively than anything else in town in November, yet not impossibly so. No sign was legible from the parking area, the brass plaque hung next to the front door was in shadow until we stepped onto the porch.

Over all, the building looks like a well tended historical landmark. The covered porch looks as well appointed as the rest of the house. Until you step on and look up. The beams and rafters are thick enough with spider webs to cause anyone to consider adopting arachnophobia. The brass plaque is etched with a simple and elegant line drawing of a cup of tea on an open book, over the words Sheaves and Leaves. There was a small, antique, pasteboard "OPEN" sign in the window of the door.

The three of us took special note of the doorway's frame as we entered. As Wade (Ken) had mentioned, there is a solid brass band that runs the circumference of the frame. Words in over a dozen languages are etched in the band, presumably all repeating the same phrase. The closest version to English that my trio saw was the same one Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) had mentioned. Either Greek or Latin the center of the threshold was marked "Terra Nullius".

When two allies from the day before had mentioned the peculiar brass accent, they assumed it meant "No Man's Land". Assuming spirit-touched are no longer men, then the message seemed less ominous. I, agreed at the time, "Terra" was definitely in the "earth" or "land" family and "Nul" probably meant something like "Nothing" or "No". The "-lis" suffix could easily modify the "Nul" to "No Man's". I did not know Latin, per se, although I did know it had a lot of those kind of modifiers. The message could refer to the dangerous area between two or more warring territories, or that this was a place where warring was suspended, or the men (normal humans) were not permitted. By then I was pretty sure I was no longer human (in its purest meaning), I was least concerned about the last option.

I say I was pretty sure I was no longer human, however I was still keeping that to myself. So much so, that I had been doing a fairly excellent job of convincing myself otherwise.

Inside the place that once was a home, the historical theme carried through. There was lots of solid wood, occasional leather upholstery, woven rugs, some metal (usually brass), and no plastics. Even the electricity is confined to a minimum of light fixtures (in the style of gas lamps) and the pastry display case in the tea room (probably the toaster and such as well, however I had no access to the kitchen). There are book cases everywhere, floor to ceiling, along every wall (including hallways). They even block a window or two. Nestled here and there are chairs or stools, as well. There seems to be more rooms in the rear of the structure, which are only accessible via a door cordoned with a red velvet rope. And, of course the tea room had a handful of tables with chairs.

The cashier/receptionist sat at a desk that one of Humphrey Bogart's characters could have used, with a manual cash register from an even earlier era. After browsing a little, Hank and I approached the lady behind the desk.

I had no idea to were Mike had wandered off. The wispy-headed mooch had been looking at books, then he was out of sight. Since I did not see the green-fingered goof for several days, I assumed he had slipped out to wander a new area of the city looking for sympatric marks to hustle.

The lady at the desk was pretty, not a model, but certainly closer to that than many. Her blonde hair was curly and cut short to bob around her ears, cheeks, and dark eyebrows. She wore big wire framed glasses that allowed easy access to her big brown eyes. Her outfit was ultra conservative and she used hardly any make up. She wore a sleek, brass, name pin identifying her as Philomena.

"May I help you?" Philomena asked in a slightly nasal voice.

"Uh, yes, well we hope so." I said. I was trying to let my actual uncertainty and confusion show. While trying to avoid appearing incompetent.

Hank was doing his standard hulking, looking, yet jovial dad routine.

"Some friends of ours were here yesterday." I plowed on. "And they mentioned something about the rare books section?"

"Yesth," Philomena had a slight lisp. Added to the slight nasally-ness, her voice conveyed a charming innocent quality. "We have an exthtensthive rare collection." She stared at me expectantly.

My mind flashed to Mrs. Fu, glowering at me through her thick lenses and Ms. Alstroemeria with her books and bug eyed exasperation. Both were unfair comparisons. Philomena was polite and friendly. Even so, my memory of the other ladies dried my mouth.

"I mean…." I tried to swallow and go on. "Uh, that is, uh, we heard…" I looked to Hank for some backup.

The wall like weightlifter smiled encouragingly at me, like he thought it was going well.

"We heard," I tried again, "there were fees or something. We wanted to find out more."

Comprehension dawned on the ladies aquiline face. "Oh, yesth of coursth." She pulled a form from out of one of the desk's drawers.

We scrutinized it. The various fee structures took up almost as much space as the rules of conduct. Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, per nine days, lunarly, per solar eclipse, per lunar eclipse, and maybe others I do not recall. The rules are pretty straight forward for a rare books collection: no food, drink, ink, ink pens, or markers, charcoal, in the stacks. No fighting anywhere on the premises. Do not damage, alter, or deface any part of the collection. Pencils or chalk and note pads or slates are allowed. The one odd rule was that one part of anything conceived on the premises, by heart or hand, belongs to the establishment.

Hank asked about the wording of the clause. "Uh, conceived?"

Philomena smiled impishly, "There have been enough insthtancethsth, that required the rule be formalized."

"Ah," Hank blushed a little, his dark orange cheeks becoming more brown and the yellowish band of his neck turning ochre, "Uh, but what does it mean 'heart or hand'?"

"Well," Philomena's impish smile gained a knowing quality. Like when a parent gets a lewd reference, but doesn't want to explain it to their kid. "Ariadne wanted to make cthertain to cover any possthibilities." She winked at me with her left eye. Hank was on her right and did not see the wink.

"It mentions fighting," I joined the conversation, "Does that come up a lot?"

She became serious. "No, there isth no fighting. It isth very important that you do not fight here." She was looking at Hank.

I felt like she thought we were looking for a brawl. I had assumed no physical violence was a given, so I tried to clarify. "Okay, but what about arguments? Like if two members are discussing philosophy or something and they disagree. Can they verbally hash it out? Or do members not talk to each other inside?"

"it isth alright to sthpeak to othersth." The perky clerk said and smiled warmly at me. "Justht keep your voiceth down and be cthivil."

"What does 'the premises' entail?" Hank asked.

Philomena looked confused. "Well… here."

"I think he means," bolstered by her smile, I tried to help, "if someone were to…" I decided to ignore the conceive clause, "Were to get in an argument and the other fellow said 'Let's take this outside'—like he wanted to fight." Philomena blanched a little. I barreled on. "What qualifies as outside the premises? Just of the porch? Is my car on the premises in the lot?"

"Uh," Philomena hesitated, perhaps making a mental calculation. "Everything within one hundred yardsth of the building isth protected by Ariadne'sth rule. But do not fight here at all." She made sure to look at Hank again.

We both wound up buying a one month pass at ten dollars each. Sheaves and Leaves only takes metal money. Luckily I had kept a couple of rolls of the Sacagaweas. I had planned to use them as fist weights, if anyone attacked me. As it was seeming less and less likely that I would wind up on the streets, I was happy to find an alternative use for the coins. Hank was not as foresighted, so I made change for his paper money.

As I signed my real name to my copy of the form I got hit with another thrum-twang all over sensation that settled in my chest. It caught me off guard because I had not come into physical contact with the pretty blond lady and I had been pretty sure that contact was important. Regardless the sensation joined the others already hovering at the edge of my perception. This one seemed slightly deeper and more resonant than the others. I added it to the puzzle pieces in my head and got on with my business.

Off the tea room is a door leading to the back of Sheaves and Leaves. There is no visible guard, although the staff of the tea and pastry counter have full view. Hank and I lifted the red velvet rope across the door and let ourselves in.

Hank wanted to browse around and get the lay of the land. I could barely stop from grabbing up books and reading. I had always enjoyed reading something new and I felt like it had been forever since I last had a real book in my hands. I had originally planned to become an architect for the job security. After a year of classes, I realized the only one I had paid any attention to was my Lit 101 course. Once I switched majors my grades improved and I enjoyed going to classes and the library, largely just for the sake of all the books and reading. In Ariadne's, the rare books sections are even more packed with books than the public areas. Hank and I split up.

I saw that the stacks are organized by subject. It took a moment to realize the method was similar to most thesauruses. I found fire, Earth, Water, Air, Wood, Flora, Fauna, Law, Chaos, Light, Dark, and so on. I was most intent on learning about shadow-eaters and—if I came across the right section—non-culinary uses of salt. I was vaguely aware that there seemed to be a lot more rooms than I would have expected, yet remained steadfastly focused on my current mission. The last few days had proven that I was not as distractible as my house-mates, however I knew I could still be easily be blown off the course of my intentions and set adrift for I could only guess how long, before I righted myself and returned to seriously completing my goals.

I had thought that since shadow-eater included "shadow" and shadows are like darkness, then I should start there. The Dark section turned out to be a dimly lit, creepy, closet. I am certain that I heard slithering while in there. I left for more fruitful sections.

As it was my first time, I was quite haphazard about my method. If I found a likely section, then I would select a few books. I flipped through and read a couple of pages of each, replacing them if they did not seem right. I collected a small armload in this fashion and found a place to sit near a window overlooking a garden.

I must stress that Sheaves & Leaves rare books collection was not a library in any modern sense of the word. So there was the unusual organizational method, yet also most of the volumes were not conventionally printed texts either. Most of the books I came across were hand written journals, or travel logs. So, any relevant data that I might glean was buried within long passages regarding scenery, trade methods, travel conditions, personal musings on life or individuals, armature poetics, and so forth. Some books I came across were more typical works, often fairy tales. A few of the more typical works I read would have passages of lines crossed out and noted corrections in the margins. All of which is to illustrate that I found no reference work, such as an encyclopedia or dictionary, to make my understanding any more clear.

I spent several hours reading through various books. Not that I noticed the time while reading. I did find that Shadow Eaters are also called Spirit Eaters, Doppelgangers, Fylgja, Dharmakāya, Etiäinen, Ikiryō, Vardøger, Stock, Fetch, and Changeling—all depending on region. Although, Fetch did seem to crop up the most often in what I had found. The gist seemed to be that fetch are either a feeble child of, or a sort of construct created by, one of the Folk. Fetch are most commonly used to allow a Bright One to snatch a baby or child, replacing the kid with the fetch lookalike. Fetch tend towards amoral lives and often make their mortal friends and family distraught. I did not find anything to indicate that the creatures had any special powers or weaknesses, nor any stories of how to drive them off.

I did not delve much into the Folk, although I did find that they are also referred to by many names—True Fae, Sidhe, Nobles, Gentry, Bright Ones, Seeley, Unseeley, Yōsei, and Oni to mention just a few. The context I drew from implied that the common aspects of these supposedly magical faery overlords and ladies is their malicious, pernicious, and dangerous natures. It was very easy for me to recognize Doctor Anwynn as one of these Nobles and hard for me to see any flaws to the theory that I and my Kendal comrades had been made into spirit-touched, or changelings.

Do to the dubious nature of the source materials, what I found was not often explicit and occasionally contradictory. Should I trust some unknown author from what seemed to be three hundred years ago, especially when I was only reading their private journal rather than a widely distributed printing. Was it better to accept Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid as written, or should I trust the hand scrawled notes that had been added in ballpoint ink, claiming that the titular character was a Nyad not a mermaid amongst other revisions. Then there was examples of one tale that referred to a constructed replacement child exclusively as a changeling, while another story insisted that the normal person that had been taken was the changeling.

For my part was not yet wholly convinced that these magical mystical interpretations were the truth. However, to keep the ideas straight in my head for personal testing of the theory and for convey to my house-mates, I settled on considering myself and those like me to be changelings or spirit-touched because I was changed and I liked the sound of being touched by spirits. The thing that replaced me would be a fetch in my mind, because that was the most unpleasant sounding of the words I had found for the imposter.

Needless to say I did have a pencil and notebook in the backpack I had been carrying with me almost constantly since acquiring it. Thus I made many notes on what I read. I had even found and transcribed a few salt related references that described rituals or incantations that seemed more detailed than the book Tegan (Gerri) had given me.

I figured, better safe than sorry, even if I looked foolish. The salt rituals were all about warding off malignant spirits or people, or cleansing areas of bad presences. So, if the world really was full of magical faery powers, then good to have some sort of protection, and if I was just falling from some impossibly elaborate rues, then the salt thing would not be harmful to anyone.

I had just started to look into some of the references I had seen to the Maze and Other Worlds. It seemed that the Maze of (or on) the Edge was also called the Briar, the In Between, the Thorny Way, the Never-Never, Neverwhere, the Night Side, amongst other titles. This place also seemed to be a way to connect the Real World, the Mortal World, to the realms of the Bright Ones. I had just found an interesting passage that claimed "… the Briar is a far less efficient route of travel betwixt the two places than the Dreamlands.", when Hank tapped a hard edged finger into my shoulder.

"Hey, Tommy," the fireman spoke with some hesitation, "can you come outside and meet this… um, guy, I was talking to?" He nodded to the window in front of the desk I had been using.

At first I had started to wonder of the large orange-red man had called me Tommy as a simple familiarity of Tom, or had he recalled my Twilight Tommy pseudonym independent of my mentioning it. Then I looked out of the window for the first time and other thoughts evaporated.

When I had sat down, I had been so intent on the books that I had barely glanced into the lounging garden through the window. It was a Victorian style garden, with manicured lawn, artfully placed trees and shrubberies, with occasional stone benches or tables. There had seemed to be many people scattered throughout, some in small groups, others alone. My first distracted-impression had been that the inhabitants of the park-like garden were people and a few exotic animals (monkeys and parrots).

When Hank prompted me, I actually, really looked through the window and allowed myself to see what was there, rather than just letting my mind fill in what I had expected should be present.

Then. The monkeys were in fact lemurs, many of which wore bits of colorful clothing (a vest, here, D'jinni-style pants there) and every so often one would swim through the air (from ground to tree branch, or from tree to tree). The person that I had originally mistaken for a rider on horseback in the distance, where the lawn met the woods, was instead a full fledged centaur. The lady with the grass green hair (not a scarf head covering as I had assumed) was eating the leaves from a bush, as a dear or goat might (not just inspecting the foliage). There was a satyr, or faun, in a waistcoat and vest, lounging near a chessboard. It was all so surreal, like a realistic painting of imaginary things had come to life. I felt like I was watching amazing computer animations on a TV screen, rather than looking through a window.

As I observed what I was seeing, I realized why my fireman ally had sounded so hesitant. Hank wanted me to corroborate what he was seeing without coming right out and saying it. It is possible the rocky fellow did not want to influence my perception, but more likely he was just trying to avoid sounding crazy, if I did not see the same things.

"I've been out here pretty much the whole time." Hank said as he led me out through a set of French doors. "Um, mostly just watching and trying to make sense of stuff, ya know?"

I nodded, still not yet able to make my mouth work. Then we stepped outside. The air was easily ten or fifteen degrees warmer, than when we had entered Sheave & Leaves front door. It smelled of burning leaves, cold rains, hay, and pumpkins. That is when the truth of the tree-line sank in to my awareness. The trees near the… yes, the centaur was still there, and the trees were far too close to the building, maybe only a hundred yards away. Plus, the forest looked far too dense, trees so close together I could not see more than a few yards past the manicured lawn.

I gut flipped and I feared that I had stepped into the shifting Briar from one of the stories had had just been reading. Another terrible aspect of the In Between was that it was never quite the same place from time to time. Thus accounting for many tales of men lost for years in woods that they had been raised in; the hapless wanderers had unknowing stepped into the Briar. or been led. I looked back to the door we had just used to make sure the house was still there; it was and it was not.

The small-ish two story colonial converted home that Mike, Hank, and I had entered, bore no resemblance to the three or four story sprawling Victorian mansion that hemmed the garden on three sides. My racing mind's gears locoed up, what I had been reading, plus the fantastical creatures, plus the apparent teleportation to a new location (possibly even different era) all conspired to clog my ability to reason. The best I could do was re-enter the building through the French doors, then exit again, once or twice to verify that I could at least return to that collection of literature.

Hank had probably continued speaking, however I was too dumb-fuddled to listen. The large bodybuilder-building-material looking man led me directly to the dapperly dressed faun and cleared his throat. The face of a middle aged man looked up from a small book. Goat-like hourglass eyes peered at my companion and me, over half-moon pince-nez and from under a balding forehead that sported two thumb-sized horns.

"Doc this the friend I mentioned." Hank introduced us. "Tom, this is Dr. Peter Dionysus."

I swallowed and held out my hand. Could this be an ancient Greek god? I did not see anything to support that in my readings, yet did that matter? "Uh, hi."

Dionysus shook it gently by the fingers, "My pleasure." His voice was normal and conversational. It only seemed odd in that I think I was expecting a higher pitched voice like many of the little people I had seen on TV or movies, or more affected like a bleating goat. "I am no relation of the more famous classical figure." He smiled as if enjoying a private joke that he told often. "At least, as far as I know."

I wondered if Dr. Dionysus had been reading my mind. By the end of our conversation, I had decided that the goat-ish fellow merely heard variants of "the God?" enough to want to head it off at the beginning of new acquaintances.

Although, it was at that moment that I stopped resisting. I stopped looking for other explanations for what had happened to me and the rest at Kendal, or the strange things I had been seeing and feeling. I was in a fairy tale, there was no way around it—honestly, I did not want there to be. I was talking to a real satyr, while lemurs gently flew in my peripheral vision. That was damn cool. All the other alternatives felt wrong anyway and were far more depressing. If I was trapped in a comma or some drug induced hallucinatory state, then so what; I liked it better than the mundane world I had once believed to be true.

Even so, I did not undergo a radical transformation, though. I remained cautious and uncertain. I accepted the fantasy aspects of what was before me—what was part of me, somehow—were real, yet I did not know my way around. And I remembered that most modern fairy tales were watered down versions of often gruesome stories. Plus, the research I had just been doing seemed clear on the fact that whatever version of the tales I knew from my previous life, were not quite accurate to the life I would come to know.

I mentally kicked my gears loose enough to chat briefly with Dionysus, while Hank loomed nearby, like a half sculpted brick-red statue set to survey the magical lemurs and foliage. One of the first things that came up was that the faun claimed to be quite learned, regarding many creatures beyond the common knowledge of mortals. I would come to learn in short order that spirit-touched tended to refer to anything from the Real World as Mortal, although it was not clear if that meant the changelings believed themselves immortal.

When I asked if Dr. D could tell me about fetch, he nodded solemnly, "Certainly, although my time is of value to me."

"How much would you consider fair?" I asked, trying to remember how much money I had left in the Credit Union.

Dionysus considered, at least in part sizing me up over the tops of his half spectacles. "How much do you wish to know? Or rather, how long are you interested in discussing this?"

I realized we were bargaining and that I should expect to be talked up from whatever price I claimed to be willing to pay. "Well I want to know whatever you can tell me…" I groped for a number. "Say four hours."

His disturbingly shaped eyes widened, "I don't think there is that much to know about fetch. Perhaps two hours?"

"Three?" I had an inspiration that as the seller he might short the time to get a second session. "Just in case what you tell me causes me to have more questions than I imagine."

The professorial doctor nodded, "Alright, three hours…" he thought, "I could give you that for a pint of blood."

I felt myself pale. "Um, thanks anyway. I am doing my best to keep my blood." Thoughts of Dr. Anwynn and the Kendal room full of refrigerated blood swam in my head. I only just accepted that magic and faery stories were real and I had no idea how my blood could be used against me.

"I did not say," Dionysus replied, "that it need be your blood." He saw the worry on my face and sighed. "I suppose I could give you three hours for one hundred dollars, if you would prefer." He seemed bored with the idea of money.

I exhaled, visibly relieved. "Do you accept paper dollars?"

"I would prefer coin."

I got the feeling I could talk the half-man into taking the cash. However, it was late and I wanted to leave to start job hunting. Plus, Hank wanted to go. Also, it probably would not hurt to make a better impression by getting the coins. I verified the doctor would be in the garden the next few days, shook his firm grip, then Hank and I left the way we had come.

Twang-hum. The increasingly familiar sensation settled into me as soon as I grabbed the doctor's hand. This time I had a much better idea of what was happening… Or, well, at least I finally had some sort of idea what was happening with these weird sensations. Promises and bargains featured strongly in many fairy tales, especially with creatures of magic having to keep their words to the letter. I quick review of my past few days verified that the thrumming sensation happened every time I entered a deal. So, with a few of pieces linking together, I would have a better idea of others for which to watch, to fill out that section of puzzle.

If my jolly orange giant cohort had not introduced me to Peter Dionysus and inadvertently to my acceptance of my changeling nature, then I probably would have insisted on simply staying in the fabulous collection of rare books. My love of reading and research could easily unseat my better interests, such as income and shelter. As it was, the revelation of what I had already read and what I had experienced within Ariadne's garden, had left me with so much to process that I knew that I needed time away from learning more. It was like I still had all the same puzzle pieces, maybe even a few significant new ones, plus a glimpse of the original picture to help me start repositioning those pieces. A process that I knew would be best accomplished by thinking about it in the back of my head, while actively doing something else. Fortunately, I had my list of goals and could simply move on to the next one. Thus, leaving my thinking mind to sort puzzle pieces, while my more active mind did what it could to get me a job.

Hank and I met Tegan (Gerri) as the voluptuous woman was entering Sheave & Leaves. In spite of my new world view, I still was not confident about what name to use for the one-time ROTC student. Although, I was much more confident that I was correct about Tegan actually being a name of hers, I still had not yet felt an appropriate time to broach the subject.

"Here to join the rare books club?" Hank grinned widely at the much smaller lady.

"Well," Tegan (Gerri)'s crystalline-green eyes assessed that the big guy and I were heading out, "I was just going to kill some time here, really. If you're heading home, I wouldn't mind a lift."

On our way to my Festiva, Tegan (Gerri) asked, "So, you two bought memberships?"

"Yeah," the ex-fireman said while stretching his pylon-esque arms over his rock-ish head, "but if you're interested they only take coins. I'm lucky Tommy here still had some left."

"Really?" Tegan (Gerri) verified.

I nodded. "Yep, and totally worth it. Things getting pretty amazing on the other side of that velvet rope." I was not yet comfortable discussing my new found truths out in the open, as it were, and would inform the lady with the rest of my house-mates over dinner in our own home.

"So," Tegan (Gerri) inquired as she bent into my Festiva's back seat, "do you still have enough? Can I buy them from you?"

"Well," I considered that I needed to get enough Sacagawea's to pay Dr. Dionysus the next time I saw him, "I could do that. Or, I was going to swing by Athens Credit \Union anyway, they could probably just sell you both some." I started to pull out of the parking lot. "If you're going to be coming here, you'll probably wind up needing them for more than just the membership dues."

So, we did stop at Athens FCU and all got more dollar coins, in my case enough to pay Dionysus and have two rolls left in case of emergencies. I began to empathize with Ms. Alstroemeria: that much coin was cumbersome and we the people should mint larger metal denominations.

On the way to our rental home, I had to drive past a car wreck on the side of the road. The drivers were out of the two cars, near the traffic as we passed slowly by. There was a young lady (probably a freshman at the university) and a guy in his thirties. She looked confused and terrified and he look furious as he shouted into her face. I could not tell which of their cars had the mashed in hood and which the crumpled trunk. As we passed close to them, I blissed out. I did not know what it was exactly, but something there had my full attention and it was wonderful. It could have been something about the cars, the upset girl, or the enraged guy. Whatever the case, it was like the best steak I had ever tasted, with the best beer, with an adrenalin booster. I almost swerved into oncoming traffic.

Hank was in the passenger seat and had grabbed the wheel to straighten our trajectory, while Tegan (Gerri) snapped, "What the hell, Tom?!"

"I, uh…" I tried to get a grip on myself, "I think maybe we should see if we can help them." I glanced to the wreck.

Tegan (Gerri) saw something about my face and got a little more concerned. "I don't think that's a good idea right now." She spoke more clearly and calmly than normal, her satin tones helped, "Maybe you should pull over and let me, or Hank drive the rest of the way."

The thought of letting someone else drive my car helped to sober me. Plus we had started to leave the range of whatever had come over me. "No, that's not necessary." I looked longingly for a moment into the rear view mirror. "I'm okay now. We can keep going." The sensation had ceased, but I did feel a little more refreshed than I had before the episode.

Yet, another puzzle piece to be sorted when I was not operating heavy machinery. Although, with everything else in my head, the piece did wind up getting shuffled out of sight, as it were, for longer than I had intended.

The seven contributing members of our ad-hoc co-op gathered for a collective dinner and shared 'story time' at our residence, as was to become our tradition, or perhaps, ritual. I eagerly relayed what Hank and I had discovered at Sheaves & Leaves, while we ate. At least I started eager, as I spoke it became more and more obvious that my colleagues were receiving the fruits of my hard work on a spectrum ranging from skeptical at best to downright disinterested. The lackluster response to my information, along with my own desire to contemplate what I had learned and what to try and research next, left me less interested in listening to what the others preferred to jabber about. From what I did register, I had not missed much.

Tegan (Gerri), Wade (Ken), and Runner (Kyle) had all gotten jobs. The one time college fencing instructor was to be changing oil at a Jiffy Lube, the alluring ROTC student took a stock-person position at Five Spring Farm Landscaping, and the cute-weasel-y fellow was working as a taxi driver.

I was impressed with Runner (Kyle)'s cleverness, job and transport all in one. Considering I was stuck with a Festiva, I might not even mind whatever crappy model the car was if I also wound up needing to become a cabbie. Not that I thought Athens was big enough to support many cab drivers.

I was also a tad jealous that Wade (Ken) would be working on cars, yet I knew how much lower pay grease-monkeying is compared to the bartending for which I planned. I kept it as a more likely fall back option than driving a hack, though.

A brief flicker of surprise had crossed my mind when I realized that Tallwind (Milton) had made no progress towards employment. Since the cynical loose-skinned scarred man had been so dismissive of how easy it would be for any of us to find work with false identifications, or even no IDs, it struck me odd that he returned to our company with no work. The grizzled man did not even offer any explanation for what he had done once leaving the rest of us earlier. However, in a moment my surprise and interest faded, as I returned to thoughts more directly connected to myself.

Rai (Leroy) barely ate anything. At first I thought the large man was still embarrassed, or upset, or whatever had caused him to stalk off that morning. Although, if Rai (Leroy) even remembered the incident, he did not show it in his looks or movements. The felinoid gent had bought a junked Suzuki motorcycle and some tools at some point during the day. Then, Rai (Leroy) had taken over our house's attached garage to work on the bike. The fuzzy-eared engineering major ate a quick, relatively small serving, then went back into the garage.

I felt a little irritated at Rai (Leroy)'s usurpation of the communal garage. Especially because I was the only one of us with a vehicle first, so I sort of had dibs. I chose not to have a confrontation, though. I figured that once the large, sharp-toothed man had his cycle fixed and the parts and tools put away, then there would be enough room for the Suzuki and my little black Festiva in the garage. Plus, if Rai (Leroy) had a working vehicle, then he would be that much more likely to also get a job and meet his rent payment.

Before Rai (Leroy) slinked back into the garage I did mention, "I, uh, I am going to try for a job at this bar I looked up on the internet." Elements was one of the more trendy clubs, if Athens could legitimately be said to have anything trendy. "I thought anyone of you that had not already found work might want to come along. Big guys like you, Hank, and you R… Leroy, can probably get bouncer jobs easy."

Even though the bar patrons would most likely only see Rai (Leroy)'s original overweight self, he was still a really big and potentially intimidating guy. The aloof cat-dude barely grunted any acknowledgement of my offer before returning to work on his bike. The coarse skinned muscleman was game, though.

Tegan (Gerri) and Wade (Ken) also invited themselves along, to blow off steam, as they seemed to be catching up to my level of general acceptance that life was going to be okay, if not better. Runner (Kyle) insisted that he had to get back to driving his hack. Tallwind (Milton) just seemed to want some alone time, which again made me a little curious as to what he had been doing most of the day. Maybe the long-fingered chap really wanted to try and find Mike again and he knew that several of us did not care for the cloud-head's general attitude. Personally, I felt like the May/December thing the two guys had going was unappealing, however, whatever two adult men consented to was none of my business. As long as Mike did not keep eating our food or living under our roof for free.

We had gone about our personal business after dinner, then around 9:30, while I was getting ready to go make a good impression on a prospective employer, Tegan (Gerri) did something in, or to, the backyard. Wade (Ken) was so excited he called us all out to see. As each of us arrived, the Phys-Ed instructor turned Oil Change Specialist would repeat, "Gerri's growing plants! I mean wherever she walks starts sprouting… seriously, look!"

It did turn out to be true. We all asked variations on the same questions. "How are you doing that?" "Does it hurt?" "How long will it last?" "What else can you do?" And as soon as I realized we were pulling that same rapid fire each person ask their own question regardless of the previous answers, I stopped and just assessed for a while.

Tegan (Gerri) stood in her short sleeved scrub shirt tucked into her tight jeans, occasionally bending over or crouching to inspect the ground, and answered as best she could—although most of the flexible girl's answers were, "I don't know." She did say, "It takes concentration, it won't happen unless I am specifically thinking about it." and "No it didn't hurt, but it does feel like effort. Like trying to remember the answers on a real important test." She demonstrated.

Wherever Tegan (Gerri) focused, the dormant plants sprang out as it were the middle of spring and a time lapse video was playing—leaves on the one branch of a bush, a small patch of grass, a single wildflower. When I walked over to more closely inspect the effected foliage, Wade (Ken) practically yelped. "Tom, you're glowing!"

The other men were standing a ways off on the small patch of an excuse for a concrete patio, they all stopped staring at the pretty alabaster-skinned lady and started staring at me. Even Tegan (Gerri) looked me over then at her own arms, then moved over to stand with the other men and looked again at me and herself. Meanwhile, the question Uzis were retrained onto me. "How…?" "Does it hurt?" "How long…?" "What does it mean?" and so on. When I was too dumbfounded to even try to answer, they shifted focus to Hank.

It turned out that I actually was glowing. I had thought that the pale light had been from moonlight, yet the cloud cover was still too thick for that and no backyard lights were on from our place or any of our immediate neighbors, so it was definitely me. At least I was at the center of the illumination; as proven by Tegan (Gerri)'s repositioning. Near me the redhead had been as illuminated as myself, yet once she stepped five or six paces away she was enrobed by as much night shadows as all the rest.

No light actually seemed to project from me, though. Covering or uncovering part of my skin did not affect the area of gentle light. It was like bright moonlight was shining somewhere and part of that had decided to play hooky from wherever that place was and be around me instead. Although, when I thought about seeing more the light grew brighter and when I thought about hiding the light dimmed to nearly nothing. I went through these observations quickly and somewhat in shock. It is one thing to decide that I was a member of a magical reality, however each new wondrous effect that seemed to directly involve me was still very new and hard to wrap my mind around.

Meanwhile, the fireman had said, rubbing the back of his yellow neck with his blocky hand, "You know, this kind of reminded me of something that happened the other day. On our first day, after the hospital?" Hank looked for some understanding from his audience. "Anyway, I wasn't sure how far the thousand-fifty would stretch and I needed to clear my head, right? Right," he nodded his no longer quite chiseled features, "so I tend to think better when I'm doing something physical, like lifting weights or building something." He took a deep steadying breath. "Anyway, long story short, I found one of those penny-saver type fliers at the Kroger and answered one of the ads."

Hank rubbed the back of his neck with one massive brick-hand. "It was an old lady, one of those extremely clean, with white on white furnishings, types." He saw that his listeners understood. "Well, I knew I had to be extra careful moving her furniture. She had me take it to her backyard and put it on old newspapers to paint it. So anyway, I was pretty worried about tracking dirt the whole time." He paused and squinted as if to make sure he was remembering correctly. "Then when I went back to make sure that I swept up, there was nothing. Not even impressions in the carpet where I know I had stood… I did smell a little wood smoke though, but didn't think anything of it, at the time."

"Don't you always smell smoke?" Tallwind (Milton) said sarcastically.

Hank blinked a few times. "No. I mean it was pretty common when I was working at the firehouse…"

"I think," Tegan (Gerri), cut in, "that Milton is referring to the smoky odor you give off, like my perfume fragrance, or Ken's wet leaves."

"Huh." The boulder-y fellow, sniffed his hands and armpit, then held his palms up and shrugged. "Nope. I get what you're saying about you two, but I just smell like me… I did shower just an hour ago, though."

There was general confirmation that Hank could simply not smell what the rest of us had all detected. I spared a brief thought that Hanks poor olfaction probably accounted for his inability to detect the chemicals in processed food. However, I was not sure why the rocky guy could still smell the others.

Wade (Ken) was quickly exasperated with the topic of body odors and wanted Hank to try and demonstrate the phenomena that he had mentioned. By then I was also exasperated with this new set of distractions, I just added the puzzle pieces to an increasing pile, and wanted to get a job. I did feel it was a little unfair that just as soon as I started to understand something about our conditions, even more unusually inexplicable things started to happen. So, I re-entered the house to finish getting ready for Elements, just as Hank was trying to get Wade (Ken) to explain how he should try and do something that he had no idea if he had actually done a thing in the first place.

I learned later in the car ride to Elements that the muscle builder had worked out the trick and could indeed make all trace of his having been somewhere vanish in a puff of wood smoke. To Wade (Ken)'s delight, he figured out that he could do the same trick, although in the scar-covered fencer's case there was no smoke—Instead, a small pile of fine metal shavings appeared.

The new twist to the men's magical powers was that both described feeling drained afterwards. When pressed for more clarity on what they meant, the best they could come up with was Hank saying, "Well, it's like I'm hungry, but not for food."

I had already added "look up spell-like effects" to my near future goals for when I returned to Sheaves & Leaves; which I shall elucidate at it's appropriate time in this tale. Here, I will verify that eventually, all of us sharing the house had tried to perform all of the tricks that any one of us displayed. Tegan (Gerri) and Rai (Leroy) would discover a mutual ability, but otherwise I learned of no shared talents amongst our group.

However, I am getting ahead the story, for before driving to the night club, I had retired to the basement laundry room and closed myself in. then I tried to get a better handle on my own new found specialness. I had slightly more success than with much of this week's strangeness. I, of course, could not figure out any specific what, why, or how. However, I did figure out how to concentrate on my illumination, to control the glow from barely one candle's light to enough to fill a room. Which also verified that it always worked, not just outside. Plus, I realized that I did have an aura like the others and would not have to be in the no aura club with I-don't-want-my-money Mike. In fact my aura was by far the coolest of the bunch, smelling funky or sounding weird had nothing on being able to read regardless of light sources.

After about a half hour, I realized (again) that I had way too many things to process for one day and I still had not gotten a job- which had been my primary goal for the day. I tried (again) to shift into pre-set mode and get back on task. I ignored the glowing, the bliss moment in traffic, Sheaves & Leaves potential for answers, and all of the weirdness with my housemates. I went to the bar and Tegan, Wade, and Hank still came as well.

With all of the trouble I was having with mentally juggling new information, I did resolve to just think of my allies by the names that they preferred. If I slipped up, I would deal with it then.

If Tegan had not come, the rest of us might still be standing at the rope waiting to get into Elements, no matter how much we may have been willing to bribe the bouncer. As it was the delicate auburn-haired hottie seemed to be wrapping men around her little finger without even noticing.

The club was college trendy with a hipster leaning. So rather than dark wood and an assortment of common objects nailed to the wall, Elements was darkly lit with most of the slight illumination coming from neon signs hung to outline the edges of things (the bar, tables, etc.) The furnishings were largely plastic made to seem like chrome, glass, and black lacquer. There were TVs in each corner, of course, and set to one ESPN or another, even though they could not be heard over the blaring—mostly auto-tuned dance music.

Once inside, I cut my three companions loose. I needed to focus on my mission. I did buy one good beer, the rest of the night I was strictly an O'Doule's man. I watched the bartenders for a while and figured out who the manager was. I waited until the manager was stepping away from the bar, but not engaged in something else, then approached him and made my plea for employment. It was a short talk and the thirty-something guy seemed skeptical, yet he still said I could come in that Sunday and try out, which gave me two days to research the mixology of the types of drinks I had just spent an hour or more witnessing being ordered.

I imagined that my ice-cream dream that promised fortune of all kinds might well be at play. I had never been a particularly charming guy before being taken and turned into a spirit-touched. So, talking my way into a job that I had simply decided to want, seemed magical.

When Dave (the manager) and I shook hands on our agreement, I again felt the twinge settle into my chest, the slight sense of reliability mixed with obligation. The sensation was weaker than the other times I had experienced it. Before I let Dave return to his business, I also ask him to consider Hank for a bouncer position. After bringing the big muscleman over and making introductions, Dave again skeptically agreed to let Hank also try out on Sunday. Again the mystery sensation and even fainter than just minutes earlier. I started tracking the intensities of the effect after each bargain.

With my income taken care of, I allowed myself to reflect a little on recent events. I was intrigued at the ease with which we all seemed to be achieving certain goals (shelter, jobs, and the like). I knew that most of my house mates had held professional jobs before we had been taken to the Edge, but since we got back I had been underwhelmed by their willingness and ability to cope with the real world. Most of them had bought weapons of some sort before securing shelter and none of them worried about jobs for almost a week, as just two examples. Added to their seeming disregard for who might overhear them talking about things that normal people would not consider normal. One the other hand, looking back over my own actions I recognized a similar paranoid streak. I had been feeling like I was doing something wrong, no matter what I had been doing, and that a cop (or someone) was going to jump out and arrest me at any turn. So, maybe what we had accomplished was not as hard as I had felt. Yet, it still seemed we had been more fortunate than our displayed competence should allow.

Now that I had accepted the mystical nature of what ever happened, I wondered if it made certain things or actions easier or more inevitable. Knowing about the magic certainly did not make learning about it any easier, that was for sure.

Hank broke into my speculations. "Hey, Tom, we need to get Gerri and go find Ken."

"What?" I responded, suave as usual as I translated the two names into to the code names I had been privately using. I really needed to work on that, if I wanted to make tip money. "Why? Where is he? What happened to you?" The last was because Hank's face had gone all grey and stony. I realized I had been sitting at the corner of the bar for longer than I had thought.

Literally, his reddish-orange skin had turned to living concrete—matte, hard, and rough, but still flexing as if it were skin. What I had thought of as stone-like on the guy before, seemed like wet clay by comparison to this new grey-paving effect.

Gavin, something stony! Hank's name, the one that was safe. it was Gavin…something.

"Well," Gavin (Hank) pulled my attention back, "there was an incident." He was trying to keep it brief. "Some ass was trying to drag a girl into the toilet. He clearly drugged her with something. Ken and I intervened. The girl ran out the back and Ken followed. I slowed the guy down." His craggy face grimaced.

"The ass took a swing at me. It pissed me off. Before I knew it I was like this." Gavin (Hank) held up his hand to display its pebbled texture and cinder block coloration. His finger nails were like a polished granite counter top, and the same color as his skin.

I glanced around. No one else seemed to notice his change. Hopefully, whatever made cameras and normal people (mortals, I guessed I should start saying) see our old selves was still working on him.

Gavin continued, "I wound up breaking the guy's jaw." He pointed to a dude in a leather jacket, who looked passed out at a back table. "Plus, Gerri," he looked to the dance floor, "looks like she's a bit out of control."

I followed Gavin's marble-eyed gaze and saw Tegan, she was dancing drunkenly with three or four guys at once. Just as many girls seemed pretty pissed in a secondary ring, trying to regain the attention of their men. Tegan had that strange blissful look, like she had in the library earlier

"Plus," Gavin said, "I can't seem to turn this off." He indicated his skin again.

I tried to reassure Wall-man that none of the unchanged seemed to notice his condition. I also agreed with Gavin and we waded into the dancers to extricate our pin-up-model-esque, auburn haired compatriot.

As I got closer to the angry girls, it was like I smelled bar-b-que or fresh popcorn. I could tell it was coming from those angry women and it made my mental mouth water. It was not strong like the car wreck earlier, however there was more of it around. I would have stayed to pursue the sensation, but it started to fade as soon as Gavin grabbed Tegan and pulled her away. Once the object of the testosterone-fueled desires was gone the jealous girls were still mad, but more focused on regaining their boys' attentions.

Hank, Tegan, and I found Wade out back by the alley entrance, he looked shaken, yet heartier than he had since we awoke at the abandoned Kendal facility. Heartier in the way that I felt after passing the wreck and the angry girls just a few minutes earlier, so nothing physically altered beyond body language. Only the middle-aged divorcée seemed more so "up" than me; not as much as Tegan, though.

"What happened to the girl?" Gavin asked Wade, clearly concerned in the way that civil servants get—he was still a fireman in many ways.

The fencer was leaning back on the alley wall, scarred hands on his thighs, like his knees were shaky. Wade took a breath to organize his thoughts, then explained. "She's okay. I just got her into a taxi." He was thoughtful a moment. "She was… very drunk or drugged, or both… but when that guy scared her, I was like I was drawn to her—like she seemed tasty. When I caught up with her out here, she thought I was him or like him, and was terrified. I felt like someone had pumped me full of morphine." He spoke hesitantly, trying to gauge our reactions.

Our quartet relaxed a little, relieved. What Wade was saying matched things all of us had felt to some lesser extents earlier. We started walking to my Festiva.

"I tried to calm her down," Wade continued, "and it worked. The calmer she got, the less of that feeling I had. I decided not to experiment with trying to frighten her again here. And she was too doped up to talk clearly. So, I called the taxi and had him take her to the address she claimed was home." He sounded a little regretful, in the same way I had felt leaving the ring of angry girlfriends minutes earlier.

Gavin explained, "I had also been attracted to her. Actually, I noticed her without seeing her, when the rape-y guy started to make his move." He shrugged wide and sharp squared shoulders. "I just wanted to punch the guy, more than chase the strange sensation the girl was emitting." Gavin also recapped for Wade and Tegan that he did not know what was going on with his skin.

By this time, our military trainee was back to normal, except more happy and energized than any of us had felt since returning from wherever Anwynn had taken us. Tegan's Colgate perfect smile filled her whole apple perfect face, puckering deep, delicious dimples into cherubic cheeks, she explained "Well it was kind of embarrassing," she looked down and bit her pillowy lower lip, and the pink blush surrounding her freckles made her seem far more coquettish than ashamed, "but that feeling's what happened to me at the library. That teenage boy in the corner had been looking at porn." Tegan took a deep calming breath that had the opposite effect on me.

"It's not like I was aroused, but something about him was… exciting." Tegan moved on quickly. "Then tonight, I didn't finish more than half of a beer, but I felt intoxicated right away. All the men and women looking at each other… It was great!" She reined in her thoughts again. "But what does it mean? We're emotion vampires now? And what about Tom, he didn't react to any of it right?" She turned to me.

I forced my thoughts away from rosy lips and emerald eyes and curves that should have warning signs posted. I recounted my experiences around anger.

Then, the four of us all repeated the short versions for the others at the house. I went to bed while they stayed up and tried to divine meaning via speculation. I fell asleep to my own speculations, while I practiced slowly increasing and decreasing the false moonlight around me. Ultimately, I believed that the only real answers would come from other changelings that had already gone through this relearning process, either from talking to those like the Shuis or Peter Dionysus, or by reading the accounts at Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves.

I did not like the mention of being a vampire Tegan had made, though. I had to work against images of Solana's groping hand-mouths. I certainly avoided looking too closely at my own tan palms. On the other h… contrarily, other than the nurse that Solana had gotten to, all the other people (mortals) we seemed to have drawn from seemed unaware and unharmed.

And what exactly did "drawn from" mean? Clearly we gained something from the experience, but what? Power? Essence? More spirit? Did they make us as much shadow-eaters as the fetch using my life? I certainly felt like the ill defined emptiness that I had been feeling was lessened... more pieces to puzzle with… I drifted off.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

_brights and darks, softs and firms, roars and whispers, aromas and odors, bitters and sweets…_

… clang… honk…CLANG! CLANG! HONK! CLANG!

Wake, grunt, roll over, cover head with pillow.

HOWL! CLANG! howl… clang… clang…

roars and _whispers, softs and firms, brights and darks, bitters and sweets, aromas and odors, …_

Day 5: Saturday, November 12th

Another night free of dreams or at least free from the memory of them. I would have almost been happy, if not for the crazy loud carful of rowdy drunks that had rolled past the front of the house. Even so, I slipped easily enough back into slumber and still had no disturbing dreams. Considering how much confusion I had been accruing over so many things and in such a short span of time, I was presently surprised. Before signing Anwynn's insidious contract, confusion and anxiety had always given me nightmares. I wondered if my mental position had been flipped, or if it was now just set to random.

The morning progressed much the same as the day before. I had been ready for Tegan to claim the shower first, so I waited my turn patiently. Plus, I did not feel like washing my clothes again, even though my meager wardrobe could use it after just one day. I made a note to purchase an alarm clock, so I could get moving earlier in the morning.

Our whole commune shared breakfast again. I was a passable cook with simple dishes, like oatmeal, French toast, most roasted items, however Tallwind and Wade really knew their way around kitchen tools. So, our meal consisted of various flavors of mini quiches and potato pancakes. Normally six of us would eat standing around or sitting on the living room floor (that morning we had one extra), which was rapidly becoming a very familiar arrangement, if not comfortable. At any given meal, whoever staked out the limited kitchen counter space (Wade in this instance), won the only hard surface—other than the floor—large enough to rest a plate and glass.

At least, I was very presently surprised to discover, one of my housemates had bought ceramic tableware, metal utensils, and proper glasses, along with the disposable mini-pie tins for the quiches. I chose to assume it had been Tallwind that made the purchases, I wanted to believe that he had actually done something yesterday. Therefore, I did not ask about the new supplies. If it turned out that Tallwind had not made the simple domestication effort, then my marginal respect for him would drop further and make it that much harder to live with the wrinkly stick-fingered man.

All of us seemed to be acting a fair deal more comfortable in our new digs, at least emotionally. As I looked around at my companions I still did not see any smiles, yet there were far fewer furtive glances and tense neck muscles than the previous breakfast. The lack of furniture made physical comfort iffy in general. I suspected that since no one else mentioned any bad dreams, that they too had slept well for two nights in a row, which must have contributed greatly to everyone's more relaxed states.

With the possible exception of Rai. The large quiet man's eyes were tired and he was curling in on himself much more than I had seen before. I think we all noticed, however Tegan was the only one to ask, "Hey Leroy," her voice was gentle, "are you feeling okay? You look beat."

Rai blinked a few slow blinks at the much smaller wisp of a woman before answering in his deep baritone. "Yeah, I'm fine… I've just been working on my bike most of the night." He shrugged large shoulders. "I'll probably grab another nap after I eat."

That seemed to settle the issue for everyone. I wondered if Rai's obsession with his Suzuki might be something like the story of the red dancing-shoes, or the water toting broom-sticks. So, I resolved to keep checking on Rai's repairs progress. If he fixed the motorcycle and moved on to restoring another one, or if the one never seemed to quite get working, then I would voice concern. Otherwise, I barely knew the cat-ish dude, so overworking might just be his way.

Gavin was back to his almost brick-colored orange-y, hard clay looking self with the much yellower neck and wrist bands. It took me a second to register why the banding had caught my eye, then I remembered that the night before, they had looked metallic—like silver or steel—when the rest of Gavin's skin had been like concrete. I was surprised that when I tried to ask the usually gabby earthen-guy about it, he shrugged and said something along the lines of "Yeah, it just went away."

Gavin clearly did not want to talk about the transformation and seemed to treat it like all impossible things where true now, so why bother worrying about this one. I underlined my earlier note to look up the effects and side effects of what sort of magic spirit-touched can do.

I was also surprised that morning to see another guest dining with the seven of us. The pallid platinum blond, Solanna, sat in the alcove/vestibule for the front door—the darkest corner within the living room or kitchen. The drawn-looking woman wore mid-calf black hiking boots, an ankle-length black skirt with web-like black satin lace overskirt, a low cut black spaghetti strap tank top, and a wide clack band to keep her dry white hair back. Solanna had also found some dark blue and purple makeup to over emphasize her sunken features. The goth girl used her dark woolen pea-coat as a cushion.

Runner mumble-gargled an explanation that he had found the wan Lit GA near the hospital last night and invited her to come back with him.

Solanna, settled her plate on her crossed legs and said, "Kyle, told me about how everyone clubbed in for this place and suggested it might be okay for me to join in. He said it was, like a hundred and fifty bucks and I would be happy to cover a share."

My mooch-meter dropped to zero right away. I was also pleased that Runner had been both considerate enough to offer a known fellow survivor some refuge, as well as sensible enough to explain our financial stakes.

As for Solanna, I found her unsettling. Beyond the woman looking almost corpse-like… strike that, there was no almost about it, the only thing that betrayed her living status was her ability to move and talk. Anyway, beyond Solanna's looks her attitude and body language gave me the impression that she really enjoyed being corpse-y, which gave me chills. Plus, the goth chicks aura gave everyone chills. Even so, I had no real objection to having Solanna join our commune. Another person would reduce my rent that much more. Of course, it would also be nice to give another Kendal refugee some semblance of stability.

My six allies agreed readily. So, after we ate I calculated the lanky-haired lady's share, collected it, then reimbursed even portions to the rest of us. Another gentle thrum-hum mingled with the sensation I could still call to mind from when the rest of us had agreed to pool our resources—I noted it in my log. I tried to interpret Tallwind's public verbal verification of my accounting as helpful intentions. Mostly I succeeded in feeling like the geezer could show a little more trust.

In the meantime, our breakfast conversation quickly became dominated by the topic of the emotion vampirism Tegan, Wade, Gavin, and I had identified the night before. Tallwind and Runner each expressed that they had not consciously realized any similar effects from strong emotions, yet they did feel like it might be true for them as well.

Solanna admitted, "I've been benefitting from the fear of people in the hospital" She spoke with an almost breathless… pleasure? Enthusiasm? I could not quite place the emotion, other than it was positive from her point of view.

I also noticed that Solanna's eyes were now solid black, like they were all pupil, and not as shiny as most. Which reminded me of how her irises seemed to darken and spread when the sickly woman had sucked vitality from a nurse—through the mouths she had grown in her palms. So, I was confused by the dead eyed lady's claim to draw on fear.

We had all seen Solanna gain strength from use of concealed maws in her hands. Yet, the pallid and frail looking girl spoke of consuming fear as we had our various emotions—particularly Wade and Gavin. However, none of the rest of us had manifested any additional orifices, nor had Solanna mentioned her hands being involved with benefiting from fear.

The nurse Solanna had used her hand-mouths on had physically weakened as if drained, while none of the people I had seen emotions pulled from had reacted physically. Additionally, I was creeped out by Solanna's manual-orifices, so did not want to bring them into the discussion. In truth, I was still employing denial about the palm-maws and the nurse—if it was not mentioned, then maybe it did not happen, sort of thing. Thankfully, none of my other allies brought up the incident either,

Which did make me wonder—not for the first time—if my housemates were more mentally disjointed than myself. Over the last couple of days I had noticed several occasions where one or the other of my companions seemed completely oblivious of something we ha discussed earlier that day. I know I too was having trouble keeping thoughts in my head, hence my devout note taking. Even so, I knew I was not as forgetful or distractible or whatever as the rest of them.

That said, my musing did make me think that our general emotion draining might not really be vampirism. Since whatever the pasty-skinned woman did with her hands had clearly been so much closer to the mythologies of the undead blood-suckers. Although, I did worry that Solanna might just be at a more advanced stage of changeling-ness and that we would all eventually wind up like her. I made another note to look into such things.

Then as Solanna mentioned lurking in the shadows around O'Bleness Memorial, for some reason that I had missed, I was jarred from one lane of thought to another. The cheerful-creepy lady had spoken in a jesting tone, yet it triggered the feeling in me again: the feeling of a dark wood and her shadowy within it, hard to look at, like a bright-black sun… Sol, Sol something or something Sol. That was the name the unhealthy woman used. I wondered why I had not made the connection earlier, as Sol was to Solanna so like Tommy was to Tom. The nearly monochromatic lady must have used her real name as a basis for her safe name, as I had. Yet, something about the nature of the safe name seemed to keep it from easy connection to it's true source… Another note to look up at Sheaves & Leaves.

Or, again, I might be making it all up as part of some lingering madness from my time in the clutches of Anwynn. Of course, if I was wrong about these pseudonyms, then why was Sol's the only one that I gave similar qualities to my own? The pondering was starting to make my head throb, so I left the ideas alone for a while.

Almost before I knew it, our meeting broke up and, in turn, helped me to think about more immediate goals, rather than juggling new ideas. No group efforts had been proposed, so we went our own ways for the day. I sometimes think that I can be single-minded, however I am not even in Rai's league, the engineer barely stopped working on his Suzuki long enough to eat. Runner returned to had cab intent on picking up as many fares as he could. I was again heartened that at least one of my rent-mates was taking income seriously, although I worried a little that the hirsute svelt man might be suffering an obsession similar to Rai. On the other hand, Tallwind claimed he would be making a more concerted job hunt.

"Well," Gavin clapped his rough hands together with a dull clank sound as he address the wrinkly fellow, "you can come with me. I wanna get some more cash over the next couple of days. I'll probably get the bouncer gig at Elements, no problem, but I have no idea how long 'til they pay me."

"And your plan?" Tallwind's dirt-brown eyes regarded the former fireman flatly.

Gavin crooked his head to one side in a half shrug, "Pick up another Penny Saver. There seemed to be quite a few odd jobs on offer."

"Yeah, well… thanks, but I think I need something a bit more regular." Tallwind grumped.

I privately agreed with the burnt and wrinkled-man's statement. Although, I got the feeling Tallwind would be pickier about his employment than the rest of us. Regardless, I offered, "I need to hit the library again. I can drive you both." I assumed Tallwind wanted the classifieds again. To Gavin I specified. "You know, you'll probably have better luck finding odd jobs on Craig's List."

Meanwhile, Tegan and Wade headed to the bus stop, then on to their respective jobs. Sol swayed into and closed the door of the room she would share with Tegan, mumbling something about sleep.

That was another aspect of what disturbed me about the sallow woman, she seemed to be allergic to sunlight. At least from what I had gleaned from the bits and pieces I had heard when Sol had been talking, she had apparently been sleeping through the days and active only at night, as much as she could manage it. I made another note, to track Tegan's outward health after she and Sol had slept in the same place alone.

The skies and weather report (from the Festiva's radio) promised another clear, dry day. The temperature was still higher than average, in the upper 50s.

After I had reminded my orange-rock-man ally what Craig's list was he and Tallwind had both accepted my ride offer, so I drove the two men to the library. Once back at the public building, I helped Gavin find the right website (again), then went about my business. I wrote up a generic contract for services or goods to be provided. I knew it was a shot in the dark, however contracts seemed to be important in this new world of fae creatures that I was in and I wanted to try and take some control, rather than feeling like everyone else had some advantage over me.

The librarians had started to recognize me and my cohorts by then, since we had been showing up for several hours every day for close to a week. I was fairly certain that the staff were concerned that we were homeless, yet they did not bother us. I was equally certain that if any of us were caught asleep there, or made any ruckus, then the librarians would have banned the offender. As it was, each of us continued to arrive cleaner and healthier looking as the days progressed, as well as obeyed all the library's riles, so no one bothered us.

After paying for my print outs, I drove myself to Sheaves & Leaves to locate Dr. Peter Dionysus. The cute lady, with her short bouncy blond curls, was at the bookstore's front desk again, so I smiled and said, "Hello, uh Philomena?"

The clerk's chocolaty-brown eyes twinkled behind her large spectacles and she beamed a smile back at my remembering her name.

"I was wondering if you could tell me if Dr. Dionysus is on the premises?"

"Oh, probably, he sthpendsth mostht daysth in the garden." Philomena's lisp was light and easily understood, yet I found it delightfully distracting.

I thanked the receptionist and headed on. I smiled and nodded a passing hello to the active lady behind the pastry counter of the tea room as I past through—she had two small horns growing from her forehead, like Dionysus, but face tattoos of blue and white diamonds that made me suspect she was not a faun. She wave politely as she continued to bustle about restocking the pastry display.

From there it was a short trip through the rare books collection to the French doors that led the English style sitting garden. Truthfully, it was more of an outside room with the three story high building defining three walls and the thick forest tree line making the fourth, roughly one hundred yards to the south. At least I assumed it was south based on the sun's eventual-inevitable progression.

The garden was inhabited, much as the previous day. Various wondrous creatures… people, really, at least mostly. I was not sure whether the periodically lighter-than-air-lemurs counted as people or not. However, I did not dawdle to catalog the various amazing beings meandering and loitering about the lawn. Yet, could not avoid noticing that the strange people were of many varied shapes, sizes, colors, and demeanors as they ate, read, talked, or gamboled.

Over time and many more visits I would come to understand that the garden always had at least a few spirit-touched in some sort of unofficial rotation. Especially at least a half dozen partially attired lemurs. At that time, however, I was trying to avoid being distracted, so I shut out the wonders around me as best I could. Even though the small berry bush that shamble-waddled ever so slowly across the grounds towards the forest edge, was very interesting.

I had spied Dr. D straight away, sitting on a stone bench in the shade of the eastern wing of the building. The faun was reading a book with his goat hooves crossed before him. The doctor placed a marker in his book and set it aside as I approached. After pleasant greeting and my reminding the studious fellow of his offer to teach me about fetch/doppelgangers, I produced the contracts I had made at the public library. I filled out the appropriate blanks on the forms and had my would be instructor agree to the terms, then we signed—in triplicate. Peter Dionysus treated the matter as unnecessary, yet not so much so that he did not take it seriously.

As soon as we both signed the papers, I felt the odd hum-thrum over and through me again. The sensation was slightly different yet again, this time almost starting within my chest, swelling, rushing through me, and re-settling in my core. I felt like the casual agreement Dionysus and I had made the day before had strengthened somehow, increasing my mild sense f urgency to complete the bargain. Then, once I passed the goat-man his four rolls of golden dollar-coins, my urgency unspooled with a similar gnawt-murht feeling that I had after paying for my Festiva. Only instead of dissipating, I was left with a comforting sense of anticipation. In turn the anticipation slowly and much more subtly drizzled into the dissipating sensation over the next few hours as my tutor fulfilled his half of our deal.

After I had passed Dionysus his copy of the contract, the two of us settled down to the subject matter. I sat on the grass in the warm sun and my ruminant-y tutor joined me. The garden was easily 72 degrees, while the rest of Athens was barely 60. Dionysus wore a leather-elbowed tweed blazer, plumb colored vest, white shirt and brown tie. The tie was knotted with a knot more fancy than the only one I knew—a standard Windsor. The furry legged fellow wore no pants or shoes to cover his cloven hooves. However the tails of the doctor's shirt did hang low enough to afford some decorum. At least until we sat down, then the shirt rode up, and I made every effort to maintain eye contact.

Dr. D opened the conversation by offering me a snack. The instructor had a plate of what looked like large raspberries on the bench next to him. The faun-man held the plate toward me and said, "Snozberry?"

I considered the possible danger, many fairy stories warn against eating the food of magical creatures or realms. On the other hand, I was already trapped as part of this new world, so eating the food could not make me more so. I did wonder of the good doctor might poison of drug me. Then decided that the goat-ish chap had agreed to the terms of my contract and had not yet satisfied his end, so harming or addling me would probably not be in his best interest. Lastly, I chided myself for finding the magical world around me enticing, yet not enough to partake of it's fruits.

"I believe I shall." I said and popped one of the berries into my mouth….

The snozberry juice was thick and tangy with a flavor similar to a blackberry or raspberry, although earthier. I only chewed for a moment or two before swallowing and I only had the one berry, however I was immediately sated. I felt like I had just completed a large three or four course meal. I made certain to study the appearance of Dionysus's remaining snozberries for future reference. Which was fortunate as the berry's effects ultimately did remain fulfilling for as long as would have a hearty meal.

"So what is it you want to know?" the goat-y doctor asked first.

I told Peter Dionysus what I had already discovered of fetch. I tried to keep the information concise, as I gestured, occasionally trying to find the right words. I spoke more rapidly than usual as I was aware I was on a time limit and did not want to waist my three hours of instruction doing all the talking. Eventually, I explained, "I want to get rid of my the fetch-thing that is impersonating me… has been doing so for seven years as far as I can tell. So, primarily, I want to know how to achieve this goal."

Dionysus eyebrows went up and his oddly-shaped yellowy eyes opened wider behind his half-moon spectacles, and asked, "Why do care about the pale imitation?"

"Because he has my life and he's ruined people's opinions of me-at least the people I care about." I answered, a little confused that the reasons were not obvious. I also knew that my accusation was mostly speculation, however I saw no need to equivocate for the doctor.

"Alright," Dionysus tried another tack, holding out his left hand palm up and pointing his index finger at me, "Why do you even want your old life back? You are changed and replacing your Fetch won't undo that."

I considered what the faun was saying for a few long moment. I realized that there were bigger issues for me to think about, possibly that I had been avoiding. Although, the basic question that I had been presented was a big picture sort of concept and I felt like I hand only just found the corner pieces to the puzzle that would show me that picture. So, I chose to not turn left from the path I had already started down and I pressed on. "I'm not sure that I do want my life back, per se. I just know that I don't want him to have it." I returned the man's upside-down point. "Plus, look-a-likes in stories, usually mean trouble and from what I could tell with just one day's research, stories are sort of more important to the likes of us. So, I at least want to be prepared to defend against with this shadow-eater-guy. Even if I don't go after him first."

Dionysus still seemed to think my interest in fetch was fruitless. Even so, he answered my questions to the best of his ability. The faun-doctor's academic nature caused him to seem pleased at the preliminary research I had done, in particular he was impressed with the number of names I had found for Spirit Eaters. The goaty fellow favored fetch as a designator, however. Dr. D echoed my own thoughts as he put it, "Firstly, "fetch" is the more common usage in this region of the world. Secondly, fetch is a suitably unpleasant sounding word for such unpleasant creatures. All the other names you mentioned seem too exotic or poetic."

I agreed with the sentiment to start with and more so after my lesson. Fetch are made things, like True Fae versions of robot-clones. The Bright Ones often make a fetch to replace a mortal that they have taken. As the fetch is usually very young, it is likely to grow up never knowing its true nature. If a more mature person is taken, then the fetch may have a harder time trying to live a life for which it does not have all the experiences. Fetch do eat the shadows of those near them, although such shadows regrow, like blood or emotions. Fetch are made of powerful forces and can wield them, if they are awakened to their true natures. On the other hand, fetch have no specific strengths or weaknesses, such as cross, silver, salt, and so on. The closer the true and original person gets to the fetch that replaced them, the more aware the fetch becomes of their own nature. The longer a fetch is around the more attached it is likely to be to the life it was imitating, therefore, more likely to fight to keep it. Seven years is a long time in these terms.

There were more details and nuance in what Peter Dionysus said and I may have neglected certain points, or perhaps I could have provided the information in an easier to digest manner. No matter what, I had to pay one-hundred cold-hard American dollars, so you dear reader, should be glad I freely provided as much as I have here.

My animalistic instructor sis also clarify early in our talk, "Changeling is more accurate too describe ourselves, not these duplicates. The tales that have been passed down and amongst us tend to get muddied." He looked off into the distance somewhat wistfully. "Sometimes the nature of passing along information is itself to blame. However, more often, we find it necessary to obscure the truth enough so as not to draw the attention of some Keeper or other."

"Uh, 'Keeper', are those faeries?" I said, absentmindedly plucking blades of grass.

Dionysus sucked in a breath and looked around furtively, as he answered in an indignant whisper. "We do not call them faeries. The True Fae, if you must. However, Masters, Keepers, Gentry, Nobles, or Bright Ones are all safer references."

I filed the information away while we continued our shadow-eater/fetch talk. It was clear from Dionysus's body language and response that he believed that just speaking the wrong words could be dangerous. I knew from fairy-tales that I had read, as well as some of the research I had done just the other day, that many stories have ill-considered conversations causing unwanted consequences. Now that my world turned out to be filled with such magics, I was reticent to discount the stories' validity. Also, Dionysus may just have been worried about eavesdroppers and considerations of social propriety, which is still a good enough reason to adhere to his advice.

After all, even while the two of us sat there, at one point another person had sidled over to us. The man (a generous guess on my part) had looked more disturbing, by far, than Sol or any other spirit-touched I had seen to that point. Honestly few others have match that creatures horrific visage since, as well. The "man" was dressed in rags that had once been jean, a dark t-shirt, and sneaker, yet had been reduced to worse than what I had woke up in at the Kendal facility. This "person's" skin was a chaotic mess of splotches and sores, of a wide range of sickly hues from bruise purples the greens and yellow, he had spots that looked like moss, and perhaps worst of all was an obvious tumor obscuring a large portion of his face. The unfortunate individual had crept up on us from an angle that I had not noticed him, until my companion wacked the stranger on the head with a walking stick. The sickly stranger said "Ow! Dude!", rubbed his head, and moved well away with some haste. Dionysus replace his cane where it had been, within reach next to the stone bench on which he had originally been seated. Even so, I have no idea what the diseased fellow may have overheard of our conversation.

After my one-time hundred-dollar lesson, I returned to the rare books stacks. Thanks to my snozberry, I felt like I would not be hungry any time soon and thought it would be nice to spend a few more hours learning more about this hidden-in-plain-view that I had been thrust into. I had intended to pick up my research where I had left off the previous day, of perhaps do some more reading about the Folk because of my talk with Dionysus, or maybe refer back to the half dozen topic notes that I had made for myself. Instead by the time I had found a little table and chair tucked into a niche form by two pale-wooden bookcases, any methodical approach had left my consciousness. Partially the excitement of so many books about a magical world that was my new reality simply overwhelmed me. Although, I also had a serious case of that thing everyone gets from time to time, where you leave on place and enter another with a specific purpose, yet by the time you arrive (even if it is only a few steps later), you simply cannot recall what you were about.

Thus, I spent a fair amount of time just browsing titles and skimming books, before I stumbled upon a few lines that did inadvertently lead me down a path of research that was at least adjacent to one of my notes. I cobbled together from a variety of sources that another good reason to call spirit-touched changelings is that they are far more mutable in appearance, nature, and abilities than any mortal man or woman. There was some speculation that this changeability is directly related to having passed through—and occasionally returning to—the Tangled Briar, which itself was in constant fluctuation. It seemed that some changelings had gained more or less control over certain aspects of their lives, including physical form, or mental health, amongst others. However, greater control over one personal aspect did not seem to guaranty that other elements of a spirit-touched life would not alter in some unexpected and possibly unwanted ways.

Unfortunately, I did not discover any real specifics at that session. I would come to learn over time that the truth about individuals in the fae-touched community are highly personal and well guarded secrets. Although, I did satisfy my concerns about potentially growing hand-mouths or becoming more corpse-like.

It was only the tip of the what-kinds-of-changelings-are-there iceberg, as spirit-touched came in so many different shapes with some many varied personalities and abilities. However, I did read enough to understand that whatever had made Sol look as she did with mouth-palms and all, was particular to her. Various changelings may be reshaped to similar purpose by their Keepers, however the similarities are faxed to that particular captivity and inevitable torment. Thus, each person that comes back is essentially changed into this new being, unable to wholly regain their humanity or become something else.

As I left Sheaves & Leaves I paused to buy a cup of tea. I still was exactly hungry of thirsty, although my throat was dry from being in the moisture-free air of the rare books section. I found myself chatty to Rosa.

Rosa was the server and chef behind the counter of the tea room. Up close, I saw that her blue and white diamond-patterned face tattoos gave her features a somewhat jigsaw look, although I was also able to discern distinct Hispanic features. Rosa had a typical mid-western accent and a warm, almost motherly attitude, even though she did not look much older than me, as far as I could tell.

I am not sure how we got on the topic of appearances. It is possible that I had unintentionally said something about the lady's face decorations, that I immediately worried could have been taken as rude. Luckily, Rosa just giggled, "You really are a sun-ripened berry fresh off the vine, aren't you?"

I made some clumsy attempt at an apologetic justification, which the cook accepted as if I could not be held responsible for not knowing better. Which also led the conversation to appearances in general and my asking, "Okay, so, I'm new to all this," I waved my tan hand to encompass me, her, the building, and everything as faery. "That has been well established" Rosa smiled, I continued. "So, can you tell me what's the deal with mirrors, and photos, and why normal people don't freak out?"

"Awe, sweetie that's the Masque." Cinnamon colored eyes twinkled amidst the Alabaster and azure rhomboids. Then Rosa's teasing grin turned somewhat sympathetic at my wide eyed expression of pleading confusion. "As in masquerade, or make believe. It's one of the oldest and most powerful deals."

I nodded, indicating that I understood the lady's words, although needed more help with there meaning."

Rosa sighed and rolled her eyes and continued cleaning and organizing the area behind the counter. The small woman never seemed to stop cleaning or cooking whenever I would see her. "I far as I know, no-one knows if it was a bargain struck with the Keepers or the first of us to find our way free. Whoever it was struck a bargain with the world to hide fae traits from men and women." Her face went flat and serious and she made sure to look into my crystalline amber eyes. "Don't break the deal. Someone should have told you this already, but clearly they haven't, do not go trying to reveal what you've become." Rosa nodded once as she saw from my fretful expression that I took her words seriously. "Bad things always come from breaking any bargains, but this one will call the Keepers to you if you drop your Masque."

"Okay…" I steered the conversation away from the terrible idea that someone like Dr, Anwynn mike come after me again. I had even had a flash of an image of a perfect and terrible youth with a smile like melting ice in a desert. "so what about reflections then? Why do I see the... um, the Masques of spirit-touched, but not my own? And why id my Masque tanned, when I wasn't before?"

Rosa flapped a light-brown hand with flower coated fingers around her wrist, "Mirrors just got special rules. Glass Refractory or someone like that might have some more specific idea of theory." She warmed me with another broad smile. Then noticed another customer coming up behind me and addressed that lady before finishing with me. "Oh, hello Mrs. Kleinen, I'll be with you in just a moment." To me, "As too your last question sunshine, that's just your summery disposition shining through."

I had wanted to ask a lot more about bargains and consequences, who was Glass Refractory, and certainly about the summery disposition comment. However, I saw right away that elderly Mrs. Kleinen and her equally senior party of three, were all un-changed humans—possibly a bit more mortal than most. Since I had just then been warned not to give away anything about our fae-ness, I realized that Rosa had obscured her last answer on purpose. As the elderly ladies looked to be settling in for a while, I left and made more notes took look into later.

Look into that is, if I could remember to check my damn notes. That is when I had realized that my past few hours in the stacks had not actually involved any of the other list of items I had intended to research.

On my way past the front desk, I left the second copy of the contract Dionysus and I had signed with Philomena. "What isth thisth?" She said looking quizzically at the page I had placed before her.

"Dr. Dionysus and I created and fulfilled a contract on the premises. That is the portion I owe the proprietor." I said with a somewhat theatrical self-satisfied grin.

The clerk seemed to suppress a laugh, nodded, and took the paper. I did notice that she had some pamphlets on her desk as well, they seemed to all be from women's shelters. I was not sure how I felt about that and decided to not pry at that time.

All seven of my housemates and I had regrouped back at our little rented ranch. We had another communal meal and what-did-you-do-today story time. I was again grateful that we figured out that making our own food was so much kinder to our taste buds. Especially when it came to the free-range organic chicken breasts, Wade had grilled up for our fajitas. The meat was not completely free of a slightly chemical flavor, but it was way better than the fast food I had eaten and gave me hope that I might be able to continue being an omnivore. I made a note to look into finding a local butcher who might have even cleaner meat.

While Rai was there briefly, he returned to the garage after wolfing down some food—or, perhaps, he panthered down his food. Tegan had expressed some concern that the large engineer turned mechanic was overdoing it, but Tallwind verified that Rai had napped for at least a few hours before dinner.

Which only made me wonder how much job hunting the burn-scarred self proclaimed detective had done. If Tallwind had been home long enough to know that Rai took such a long nap, then the wrinkled-man must have been hanging around as well. My mooch meter started to rise as I began to suspect another reason for why Mike and Tallwind seemed to get along. I put my concerns on a back burner, though, since this month's rent had been taken care of, it should only matter to me if the gruff man cannot make the next payment.

I eagerly relayed most of my conversation with Peter Dionysus about fetch. I had assumed that since all of my housemates seemed to have fetch, except for Gavin, that they would be as eager to learn what I had. None of my allies ever said much about their own duplicates, I think Tallwind's led a cult on a compound somewhere, Runner said something about his old address being used by a hoarder, Tegan's fake was on meds and living with her folks, and so on. I might care about remembering more details, except my valuable research had been met with universally disinterest. My dinner companions were even more apathetic than when I revealed that I had discovered we were faery creatures, the day before.

Looking back, if I am feeling generous, I can only surmise that my allies still had too many new, confounding, and distressing things with which to cope and dealing with their false selves was too big right then. In my less complimentary moments, I think they were all too brain damaged to think about more than one thing at a time. Or, perhaps they were all just jonesing. Since we had learned of our abilities to absorb particular strong emotions, that had been a favorite topic, like addicts talking about their drug-trips.

So, needles to say, I did not bother trying to impart any of the other things I had learned at Sheaves & Leaves.

After Rai left the other six claimed their day had been uneventful and without any news. Then the conversation quickly shifted to a general desire to go to another night club to verify that everyone really could draw weird vitality from other people's emotions. Wade checked on Rai, however the felinoid-linebacker of a man declined to join the rest of us.

And, yes, I went too. Partially because I was asked to drive those that could not fit in Runner's off-duty taxi. More so, I also wanted to learn more about what I and the others could do and practical field tests were almost as interesting as book research..

Also, I say "weird vitality" because we did not, yet, have a better word for it. The feeling was not one of sustenance per se. We all still grew hungry and ate food normally, as long as it was not industrially processed. The sensation we seemed to taken in from the emotions of others was invigorating, enlivening, and somewhat intoxicating, yet it was also indescribably weird as well—sort of like the result floated around behind our brains.

The hair-covered cabbie chauffeured Wade, Tallwind, and the surprisingly healthy looking Sol in his taxi. Gavin had called shotgun in my Festiva and Tegan rode in back.

I had looked up a few bars for my job search, however it was Sol that suggested, "We could go to the Union." She sounded bubblier than I had heard her since before we had been captured. "It's got two floors, so we can spread out and really practice this emotion sucking thing."

Our apathetic gang gave typically lukewarm responses, in spite of them having just been acting enthusiastic about going somewhere.

"Awe, come on guys." The monochromatic woman pouted very theatrically. "I used to go before this Kendal thing happened. I'm sure it'll be great." Which turned out to be just enough wheedling to get the group off the floor and preparing to go.

I was surprised at how much more lively Sol sounded and appeared. I chalked it up to the pale lady's having gotten her first good night's (day's, at any rate) sleep, plus probably some liberally applied pancake make-up.

The Union Bar & Grill, was still in business and did indeed comprise both levels of a two story building, with live music and a dance floor upstairs and a more conventional DJ run club below. Our party had discussed a plan of splitting up with regular regroupings every fifteen to twenty minutes to compare notes, as it were. I was not surprised when Gavin and I were the only ones to reconnect with the other members of our collective. Even then, it would have only been me, if the blocky orange weightlifter had not decided that I need a body guard.

Personally, I liked having Gavin loom around usually. Big guy like that would deter most threats and draw attention to himself if a fight did break out. On the other hand, I felt a little bad for Tegan and Sol, even if the buxom redhead did have some martial arts training from the ROTC, the two woman were by far more likely to be accosted without a strapping fireman dude at their side.

The joint was jumping, as the cliché goes. Saturday night and just past mid-terms in a college town, of course the Dave bar was full of mostly young twenty-somethings and slightly younger men and women being allowed to pass for legal drinking age. I had never been much of a club goer, the noise and crappy lighting generally put me off. However, I absolutely understood the desire to stop thinking and rub up against attractive young people. I especially got how liquor was necessary to lubricate most brains to stop thinking and loosen uptight social morays to the point that just bumping into another person would seem like meaningful human contact.

That night in the Union, though I was still working my goals list and relaxation was not a priority. I did dance a little and had a couple of beers, I just was not looking to hook up or get wasted. Plus, I had been spending so much time around other spirit-touched that saw my refined elfin appearance, I had forgotten how normal young woman looked (or more accurately, failed to look) at my Masque, back when it was just how I looked period. Plus, it eventually occurred to me that my Masque also looked like a seven year older me, whish was placing me at the older end of what was generally in play at a night club like that one.

Of course having Gavin pretty much constantly at my side did not help my prospects any. Sure the guys Masque looked like a well-fit model body-builder… in his early fifties. It must have looked like I had brought my dad to the bar, or worse my sugar daddy.

Also, even though the volume was still to loud to easily speak over, the dim lighting sis not bother me. Thanks to my magical glow-aura, where I was always had just enough light by which to see.

The rest of my collective were more serious about being there in the party atmosphere. Tegan and Sol especially flirted and danced and generally seemed to be having a good time. Runner was giving it the ol'-college-try, however he, like me, looked much better to those that could see fae. Also the hirsute hack-man's mortal Masque looked a little older than me. Wade and Tallwind were as bad off as Gavin, of course, with the former looking like he was almost forty to the other barely-legal clientele and the latter appeared older and far less attractive than Gavin. Still my male companions got there drink on and enjoyed the sights.

It only took me and my earthenware shadow two circuits of the whole club, to gather and relay each of our allies experiences. The results confirmed that each of us got a charge from one of three basic emotions—pleasure, fear, and anger. I was sort of proud that I was the only one in our gang to favor anger. I would not have minded either of the other two emotions, per se, however I liked relative uniqueness of anger. The others were split down the middle—Runner, Tallwind, and Tegan for pleasure verses Gavin, Sol, and Wade, for fear. Although, I was not clear on whether the terror trio actually had experienced anything at the Union, or if they just got nothing from the hedonistic dancing and drinking and assumed their previous experiences were enough.

At least, our auburn-haired beauty did offer a more detailed report. "Well, full on lust is the best." Her freckles were almost completely obscured by the flush in her delicate cheeks and much of her emerald eyes had been lost to dilated pupils. "But almost any true happiness works, just to lesser degrees."

"You, seem to be maintaining much better than last night." I had to lean in and shout over the music. The covetous woman's floral faery-aura almost intoxicated me.

"Yes," Taken nodded send her silky tresses swaying in a counter point to her hips, as she did not seem able to stop from dancing to the amplified music, "it still feels great, but sort of knowing what to expect makes it a lot easy to not lose control. Plus, if I concentrate on either enjoying it, or getting past it, I can keep or shorten the buzz a little."

"So," when you say there are lesser potencies," I was dancing along and mostly just prolonging the conversation for the sake of it, "is it like for me and anger? Like the ring of girls last night were pissed ay you and their boyfriends and that was amazing. Buy here I have only gotten whiffs of what I'd call peevish or irritated and that's hardly even noticeable."

More dance-nodding, "Totally. There's plenty of lust here, but lots of just general happy, as well."

About then Gavin tapped my shoulder and indicated that we need to check on Runner. The otter-y man turned out to be a little more blissed out than had Tegan, yet fine all the same. I suspected that Gavin had just been tired of doing his white-guy two-step and wanted to walk around some more.

I also got a much better look at Sol dancing and flirting with a half dozen men. What I had thought had been improved health from sleep turned out to be unhindered vivaciousness. Also, it was clear that cosmetics had nothing to do with the reinvigorated woman's appearance. By day, I thought the gregarious blond had become permanently sickly. When the sun is up the Lit major's skin seemed waxy at best and dead at other times, with an apparent lack of any muscle tone, she would move as if she were nauseous and headache-y, and even her long straight, ash white hair was dull, brittle, and tangled looking. At night Sol's bubbly nature returned and her skin became taught and silky against well-defined muscles, while her sheet of platinum-hair shimmered and swayed as it swept across her shoulders and back. Even the girl's all-black goth attire seemed to hang differently, the lacy satin top that had seemed frumpy and dowdy, instead read as clingy, perky, and teasing.

I found Sol's metamorphosis only made her seem more disturbingly vampiric. I tried to convince myself it was simply an appearance and not more sinister. Then I remembered the nurse collapsing and Sol's extended hungry mouths and grasping fingers. I settled for hoping that the pale lady had no taste for whatever kind of spirit-touched that I had become. That said however, as a member of our household, I was glad that the mysterious woman did not always seem to be ill.

Over time I would come to understand that Sol was one of many spirit-touched, commonly referred to as darklings, that suffer during the day—especially in direct sunlight. Yet, they are fully robust at night, or in similar extreme darkness. A feature that I find quite unsettling in and of itself, although, perhaps more on the side of pity than unease. I try not to think about what such changelings had to endure from the so called Nobles that had enslaved them.

I felt that it was fortunate we all went together. In those first few days of getting used to the rush of consumed emotion, it tended to make us a little unstable, like drunk teenagers. As a group we could watch out for each other. If I was getting close to a furious jock, I might be to blissed to notice him about to swing at me. Since none of the others were affected by the anger, they could step in and get me away before I got pummeled. Or if some girls were afraid because the old guys were coming on too strong, Sol or Tegan could intervene before the bouncers did.

Gavin, Wade, and Tallwind caught a ride home with me around 1:00 am. Our other housemates stayed. If the three old men had not hit me up for the ride, I probably would have stayed as well. After the first half hour or so, our experiment with emotions had dissolved and, however all the sweaty writhing were nice to watch and occasionally dance with. On the other hand, it was hard to think in the bar and leaving meant I could either rewrite my goals list to incorporate my new "need to research" notes into a more coherent short and mid-term plan, or I could get some extra sleep and be more refreshed in the morning.

By the time we were back at the ol' homestead, I opted for sleep. It had been a satisfying day. I went to bed still slightly nervous and uncertain about all the unknowns in my new life and whether I should pursue my old one. However, the little bit of anger I had I had collected at the Union added to what I had from Elements and sated that ill-defined emptiness I had been feeling. Plus, Sheaves & Leaves gave me hope that answers could be found.


	7. Chapter 7

Running, crawling, run-crawling along the sun-warmed sidewalk. The pale grey squares of paving slabs sped past beneath feet and hands. Up on two legs for a while, sluggish. Then back down to all fours, grabbing the hot concrete and pulling forward for more speed.

The high-schools broad lawn is to the right. The lush green grass would be more soothing to run-crawl across. The soft earth beneath would slow movement even more than just two legs. Still pulling harder with strong arms, pushing faster with strong legs.

The thrill of motion. The bright pale blue sky almost the same color as the paving slabs. The wind cursing through hair and pushing back against face and shoulders. Leaping over the next pale-grey square.

Pull, push, run-crawl, leap. Another leap farther than the last. Run, run, grab-pull, push-off… hand drift, pass many slabs. Anticipate landing, quick pill-push-run crawl-leap… farther again,.. and again…

… If I keep going will I start flying?

Day 6: Sunday, November 13th

The sun had fully risen by the time I followed suit. I heard activity in the rest of the house and groggily noticed that Wade and Gavin were not in their customary places on the floor. Good, I really slept in for a change.

I even thought I had been dreaming. A normal dream like I used to have, vague and hard to recall. I remembered my high-school and running and long impossible jumps that felt more like floating and that was about it. The other dream/nightmares that I had had since waking to my new post-Kendal life were still as vivid and easy to recall as my conversation with Peter Dionysus or signing the papers for my Festiva. The intense wake-me-at-three dreams always left me feeling rattled, a little scared and sort of lonely. This dream just made me feel like I had more to do, or like I was looking for something. Which was true, so I assumed the fading imagery was just my subconscious telling me what I already knew, like a normal dream should.

I discovered why sleeping late in a house of eight people and one bathroom is a bad idea. On the one hand I was lucky that I did not have to wait very long for Wade to finish with his shower. On the other hand, I was last to bathe and the warm water was long gone.

Except for the red-orange lumpy-man, my housemates were in varying stages of hung-over, gingerly shuffling around the kitchen and living room. So, no one had volunteered to play chef for our brunch. At least, of those few that wanted solid food, they had prepared their own. So, I scrambled myself some eggs and brewed a cup of tea.

I had reviewed my personal notes while waiting for the shower, so I was more focused than usual on my own thoughts and planning. It had occurred to me that I accepted that I was really just taking other people's word for my fae condition. Then I looked at it more philosophically and figured that I had pretty much believed others in the past when they claimed I was human. Which led me down a tangent of considering if all things would assign anything they could communicate with as being of their group. Ultimately, I came back to my initial premises and chose to take solace in the consensus of other spirit-touched to let me know what being a one of them was like.

I let the movement and talk of the others just float around me, better to not disturb the tentative peace I was starting to feel. I had shelter, transportation, a sense of what had happened to me, and a line on income to maintain the shelter, transportation and food. It was pretty good for four or five days and only starting with a thousand bucks. Plus, on the job front, I would be making far more then the paltry sums most of my older and more educated cohorts were settling for.

In spite of my introspection, I did overhear bits and pieces of conversation from my companions.

"… more parts, but my cash is getting low." Rai's low rumble-voice said as his yellow-green cat-eyes looked at no-one in particular.

Wade shrugged and scratched one leathery-ear with a scar-ravaged hand. "I could put in a word for you, with John at the Jiffy Lube. It's pay-per-car and catch-as-catch-can, but I made some extra dough suping up a customer's street racer."

"You know about cars?" I asked the former fencing teacher, as Rai nodded his broad face thoughtfully. I had a spark of excitement that I might actually share a common interest with one of my housemates.

"Not really." Wade shook his head as he turned his dull metal-grey eyes to me. "It was like Gerri's plants, or the erasing tracks thing. I just sort of knew that I could tinker with the engine."

"Really?" Tallwind almost always sounded like he was sneering. "You just knew?"

Wade said something about the last dream he had had given him the idea, however I had mostly returned to my own thoughts. The middle-aged under-the-counter Oil Change Specialist's words did sink in enough for me to equate his special car enhancing gift with the my own dream of a gift when dealing with luck. I was torn as to whether I was more jealous that Wade had been able to intentionally activate his gift, or that he had something that helped him with cars. Not that I would have given away my special fortune ability, even though I still did not really know for certain that I actually had any such thing. I was irritated that the supposedly college educated man was wasting his time and talents with oil changes, if he really could work wonders with machines; there had to be a dozen more lucrative options, even with the lack of legitimate ID issue.

Oh well, not my life, not my problems. Just like with the other heavily scarred man in the house, as long as Wade make rent, that is all I was going to care about.

I am sure that the rest also said things as well, just nothing that penetrated my personal focus.

I did not let the drizzly grey-weather get me down. I drove my Festiva and let some pop music and commercials keep me from thinking too hard. Too much thinking and I knew I would go off on a tangent that would most likely interfere with my goals. Sorting the mental puzzles pieces was fu, in its way, just too distracting.

I spent most of the day back at the Athens Public Library, studying mixology. Every time I found myself opening the library door to use their computers again, I thought, "Soon as I can, I have to get a laptop… or maybe one of these sleek new smart phones." Perhaps, if I had pulled out my notebook and wrote it down, I might have purchased said device much sooner. At least with the bartending research, the library also had actual books to reference as well, so the public space felt more useful.

I took a break from studying to venture out into the rain for lunch—salad and fruit from the Kroger deli. Some of the food still had an odd sort of wrong-ness, yet no perfumy-chemical-y tastes, so I assumed it was unavoidable genetically modified. I also swung by The Gap and invested in a couple more shirts and a pair of pants. I wanted to look like I fit in with the other employees I had seen at Elements, when I went in for my first night/try out.

While at the library, the staff seemed more receptive to my presence than earlier in the week. No one struck up a conversation, or anything, I just received a couple of smiles in place of blank faces or a nod instead of a scowl. In addition to having become a regular visitor, I think I scored approval points by reading the books, not just surfing the web. Plus, the librarians must have been significantly more relaxed for me not being part of a gang of three or more seedy looking characters.

We had fajitas again at our commune's habitual, albeit not formally arranged, dinner meeting. At least there was both chicken and flank-steak from which to choose. Wade knew his way around a grill, however he was not very culinarialy imaginative.

Tegan mentioned in general, as she passed the wine bottle to Tallwind. "So, I seem to be persuading people a lot." She started to assemble a fajita from the fixings she had placed on her plate from the buffet line we had set up on the kitchen counter. "Like more than by just reasoning with them. I tested it a couple of times and got people to do pretty much whatever I wanted. Anyone else getting the same effect?"

"What, like you can mind-control people?" Hank asked, a fajita in his massive-pebbly hands, paused halfway to his mouth.

Tegan shook her head, sending deep red hair dancing, chewed, swallowed, and said, "No. It's not like I know what they are thinking, or that I can put thoughts into the heads. It's more like…well, if I really want someone to do something and I have spent a few minutes near them, then all I have to do is ask and they pretty much do whatever it is. They act like they just want to make me happy."

"Okay," I said, from my spot on the floor across from her and Tallwind, "sounds like spontaneous hypnosis, more than telepathy. Do you need to keep concentrating on the target to get them to keep doing whatever?" I flapped my hand vaguely. I also wondered if she was just experiencing the hot-chick-effect of guys willing to do anything for her on the off chance she might spontaneously jump their bones. "And is it just men?"

"No," Tegan smiled as pink bloomed subtly on her cheeks, causing the green of her eyes to pop, "It effected men and women." Her emerald orbs sparkled with a mischievous thought. "and at least one of the women was totally married with kids." She ticked her auburn tresses behind her left ear. "As for the other part, the effect seems to wear off after they have been away from me for a few minutes. It lasts longer the less complicated my suggestion, but still no more than ten or fifteen minutes as far as I can tell. And I don't seem to have to concentrate on them."

Wade sipped some wine, then asked Tegan, "So, do you feel anything when this happens?"

I considered again whether I cared enough to buy some wine glasses for our place. I thought it was sad every time I saw one of the others sipping wine from a coffee mug or juice tumbler. On the other hand, it did look silly, which was mildly entertaining.

"It makes me feel…" Tegan closed her eyes demurely to find the word she wanted. "Drained, I guess is the best I can do. Like the opposite of the boost I get from other people's pleasure. Like some of that energy, or whatever, gets used up."

Which prompted the discussion that led to most everyone wanting to come to Elements for another emotion buffet. It was also resolved that no one else had mystically hypnotized anyone, but we had not tried either. Personally, I contemplated several earlier group conversations which had been going nowhere until the creamy-skinned beauty had made a definitive call, or had ended as soon as she had decided she did not want to talk anymore. It sounded like Tegan had only noticed her power that day, yet seemed like she had been inadvertently using it all along. I resolved to try and resist going along with the shapely lady's opinions just because she had presented them.

Rai had actually been experiencing a rare moment of paying attention to us, rather than whatever calculations were normally running in his head. Even though the potential linebacker had been in the room at the previous meals when we detailed our experiences, we had to tell him again about the emotion eating.

"That sounds like what happened with me and the kid the other day." Rai's voice was low and velvety, his slit golden eyes stared into a middle space, and he sounded somewhat relieved, yet also still confused, "I was afraid it was 'cause she was a kid… but she didn't show any of the emotions you all mentioned." He was crouched by the living room's picture window, balancing a plate of fajitas in his (almost plate-sized) left hand while he ate with his right.

"Did it happen at any other time?" Gavin asked from the hall entry to the living room, preferring to stand most of the time. The roughly sculpted man was holding his emptied plate and glass, waiting to make sure everyone else had eaten, before going back for thirds.

Rai thought, while he chewed, his cat-ish ears flexed low and to the sides, "Yeah, I guess it did a little while later when I passed a homeless dude. I was thinking that since the hunger awoke, I was just targeting the weak."

I was pleasantly surprised at the concern in Rai's voice. Since Panthro so rarely seemed to be listening, I had been thinking of him as emotionless. Rai's admission not only displayed emotion, but empathetic caring emotion. I started to wonder if the big guy only felt that way about normal people, though, since he never displayed it towards the rest of us in the house.

Tallwind dropped his fork to his plate and snapped his pencil-y fingers with epiphany, "That's why you've been holed up in the garage. You've been avoiding the temptation of eating someone."

Rai nodded confessionally and did not meet anyone's eyes for a while. We were all amused, but contained ourselves. Except Sol, she remained serious and tried to not be noticed during this, leaning further back into shadowy alcove where the living room met the front and a coat closet doors.

I remembered again, sipping heavily-perfumed apple juice in O'Bleness, while a nurse tried to help Sol. Again the memory of that nurse collapsing under the touch of sickly-pale hands and the mouths that had appeared within those pallid palms, closing to invisibility when the nurse was forcibly dragged away. I especially remembered how revitalized the Sol had been afterwards. Then, later, I had agreed with the others to let the morbid monochrome maven join our ranks.

Even though Rai's embarrassed reaction looked funny on such an imposing figure, he could easily be very dangerous. However, in light of my conflicted feelings regarding Sol, I decided that if I would withhold morally judging Rai. Or any of the others, for that matter. At least until I sorted out my own position on such philosophical concerns.

"So," Wade sat lotus style with his plate in his lap and asked Rai, "did they have anything in common emotionally?" He only gestured a little with the fork in his scarred hand, towards the large cat guy.

Rai looked blank, blinking very slowly.

"Well…" I interrupted as I remembered, "the kid was crying up a storm." I knelt closest to Rai, using the other corner of the picture window's sill to rest my glass of juice.

"Yeah," Tegan added, coming back into the room from the kitchen, where she had just dropped off her dirty utensils in the dishwasher, "and a homeless guy was likely to be pretty miserable. She turned to Rai, "You probably crave sadness."

I nodded, swallowed, and added, "Yeah, Just 'cause we found three emotions that suited us, doesn't mean there can't be others."

Rai was skeptical, but he agreed it made sense. He said it in the way I would have a few days earlier. Like it did make sense, assuming what we were saying was possible and not just ongoing madness.

I wondered again how long it would take the rest of my allies to catch up to my own level of acceptance of the obvious. Was it that they clung to more, or less, of their former human selves, that kept them from acknowledging being spirit-touched? Or were they just actively trying to deny the true faery nature of the world that had been hidden to us all, until Anwynn's deceit? Regardless of those reasons, why would anyone not want the magical abilities that this new life offered?… I did learn, in relatively short order, the answer to that last question was, because most changelings remember the harsh lessons and torments that granted them their abilities, far better than I, and using the magic was tied to those terrible memories.

As I mused, the discussion turned to speculation as to where best to test the misery theory. In the end, Sol mentioned that the chapel in the hospital usually has one or two grieving people. She offered to take Rai and he agreed.

I had been a little concerned that most of the rest of my housemates had invited themselves along to my and Gavin's first night at Elements. My worry was appearances. On the one hand, the older looking prospective bouncer and I were bringing in more paying customers, so that could be good. On the other hand, Elements was geared to an even younger and trendier average patron. Plus, as far as I could tell, I was the only one of us to invest in more than two sets of clothes and I was certainly the only one that had shopped outside of Wal-Mart's bargain prices.

The day had continued with the warmer than expected trend, yet was still a little chilly. The sun had remained hidden in a horizon to horizon blanket of grey. At least the precipitation had stopped mid-afternoon and afterwards the air smelled more like autumn than early winter, which was a nice change from the regular odors of exhaust, ozone, or some other man made byproduct. After nightfall the clouds remained, creating deeper shadows cast by various artificial lights. The temperature did eventually start to drop as well, although not really noticeably until our crew left Elements around 2:00 am.

At the night club, my housemates did not cause me any of the trouble I had feared. Dave, the manager, had picked Sunday for my try-out behind the bar, specifically because it was Elements' slowest night; allowing him more time to assess me more closely. So, the extra people that had come in with me actually gave me a more reasonable opportunity to show what I could do. Plus, my so called allies were largely self involved with their attempts to gather more emotion from the much smaller number of other clientele, so they for the most part did not try to mess with me.

Tallwind did come up on a couple of occasions when he was sure that Dave was nearby and order a couple of obscure old-school cocktails—a Brandy Alexander and a Pink Squirrel, if I recall correctly. Luckily my crash course earlier in the day had actually prepared me for these curve-balls. Since the library had bartending books, just not very recent books.

I did work with another of the regular staff, a dude by the name of Justin. The guy looked to be around twenty-three or four with dark wavy-hair overly product laden. Justin was nice enough and understood when I explained, "Hey, man, nice to meet you. Um, like I really want this job and I'm a little nervous, so I hope you don't mind if I'm not too chatty tonight."

Justin just shook my hand and said it would all be cool. Then he answered any questions I had through the night and mostly just focused on his customers.

After a couple of hours, Dave called me into his office. I had the impression that he was only half-heartedly interested in hiring me, at best. Something about "already having lots of bar staff", plus I think the manager thought Tallwind's stunt orders were staged to make me look good, rather than try to embarrass me.

So, I tried to influence my would-be boss in the way that Tegan had mentioned at dinner. I was even a little proud of myself just for remembering to try the faery mind trick. I was nowhere near as reticent to avoid or dismiss the magical world as my associates, although I was still having trouble incorporating it into my thought processes.

"Well, Dave, I certainly appreciate your position." I concentrated on my desire for employment and tried to mentally tap into the feeling that absorbing anger had given me. "However, I have to think you have space for a go getter like myself on your roster, especially because you spent the time for this trial run in the first place. If you really were fully staffed and satisfied, then you could have much more easily turned me away." I saw that I was hitting the right notes to keep Dave interested. "And then I would have simply gone to the Union, or one of the many other bars in town, and you would be out my impressive services." I smiled confidently, to reinforce myself promotion. "Plus, while I won't work for minimum wage, I also don't see any need to put you through any extra paperwork. Like W2s, or employee insurance, or the like."

Dave nodded appreciatively and, I believe, suppressed a smile of his own.

So, my mystical efforts worked. Over the next ten minutes the thirty-something year old man and I negotiated my pay and general hours. The power I felt was subtle and not quite as potent as my auburn-haired ally-seductress had described. I still had to voice and essentially sell my desires, yet I felt like I was picking just the right words with just the right tone, more easily than I had ever conversed before. Ultimately, Dave was not going to sign over the bar, or anything, however he did start to concede more of what I requested—more than any bargainer (especially a under-the-counter employer) should. Honestly, an equally inexperienced normal mortal would have been lucky to get a couple of bucks an hour plus tips and only work the deadest shifts to start. I settled for five dollars an hour (a buck more than Ohio's minimum wage for tipped employees) and partial shifts pretty much whenever I wanted, plus tips.

I was fascinated with my new ability and I pushed a bit more to see how far I could go. "So, abut my buddy, Ga…" I faked a throat clearing to cover for needing to correct my nearly saying Gavin. "Um, Hank, that is. He's clearly intimidating, heck must of the regular customer demo would do what he says just 'cause he reminds 'em of their dad." Dave chuckled appreciatively. "Plus, we're roommates so you'll always be able to get a hold of both of us as long as you reach one of us."

Dave rubbed his nose with one knuckle and thought a moment, "You negotiating his deal too., then."

"Naw," I shook my head and waved my right hand from left to right in front of me, "his money's his responsibly. I'd just like to be able to give him the thumbs up when I step out of here."

Dave confirmed that he would take Gavin on as a bouncer and I went back behind the bar for the rest of the night. I had considered negotiating for my rocky cohort as well, but by then I had starting to feel the drain that Tegan had talked about; that regrowing empty-not-quite-hunger feeling in the back of my thoughts. So, I took my win and finished the shift.

Again, of course, when the bargaining had ended and Dave shook my hand over our agreed terms, I felt the quick surge thwang-thrum sensation threw me and into my chest. The feeling was stronger than the when I dealt with Dave to get the try-out, yet not as potent as my meeting with Peter Dionysus, although somehow deeper and more resonant than that one-time arrangement. Plus, this time the mix of anxious obligation verses soothing expectation was heavily weighted to the latter.

I understood that deal making was the key by that point. I just had no idea where to start to research the meaning or effects of these deals. I considered Sheaves & Leaves Law section, yet was admittedly intimidated by that large section's scope and the dense legalese I had encountered in the few books I had perused therein. If I remembered, I hoped I might pay Dionysus for another tutoring session, or maybe catch Rosa on a break. Just thinking about the spirit-touched I had met at the unusual bookstore made me feel better; like I was not alone in a group of others as, or more, clueless than myself.

As I had only absorbed anger opportunistically and was again feeling that peculiar yearning-malaise, I conspired to see if I could purposely upset someone enough to satisfy my strange new hunger. I made change for a ten for the next customer that paid with a twenty. "Her you go, sir, eight, nine, and ten."

"What're you trying to pull!" I felt the young man's immediate indignation like a warm breeze. "I gave you a twenty."

I raised my eyebrows and blinked at the customer. "I don't think so. I'm sure it was a ten."

"Look dude, I only had twenties when I came in here, gimme the rest of my change." The man flushed slightly, although retained most of his composure.

I felt the twinge of my eyes dilating quickly and the influx of the weird vigor sensation flowing into the rear of my mind. The customers contained anger was like the smell of a lover and the promise of warm food on a cold day. The actual gathering in of another's desire to rail and argue was like electricity to my spirit, it did not make me happier per se, although it did fill me with more confidence and sense of safety. Then process and mildly intoxicating side effects were very brief, only a few seconds.

I also caught Justin taking notice out of the corner of my slightly blurring vision. So, I quit. "You know what," I raised my hands in surrender to the upset patron, "You're probably right. If not, then I'm only out a ten-spot, right?" I handed over the remaining change and tried to sound sincere. "I am very sorry for the inconvenience. I will need to pay closer attention to what I am doing in the future."

The guy accepted my apology and the heady sensation of anger dried up like a water faucet had been closed. I felt like I could have pushed the customers buttons more and absorbed far greater, more satisfying rage. On the other hand, I had just put a lot of effort into getting that job and did not want to risk the guy complaining to Dave. Besides, I needed to prove to myself that I could control these urges.

Closing time came and I collected my under-the-table wages into my pockets alongside my tips. Then my housemates and I headed home. Normally, Dave would only pay weekly—even for the cash and carry employees—however, my special negotiation efforts had garnered me a pay-as-I-go plan. Gavin had been stuck with the standard deal and would have to wait for the following Sunday to see his first payroll. Dave also told me and Gavin to be back on Wednesday by ten.

Tegan, Wade, and Gavin came home in my Festiva, the others rode with Runner. The talk on the way was mostly about how the emotional picking had been slim, yet everyone had gotten something out of the evening. Wade only seemed somewhat jealous that Gavin had clearly encountered much more fear as a bouncer manning the door and determining patrons ability to enter, than the scarred fencer had trying to lurk ominously near those same customers once they were inside.

It was easier than ever to fall asleep, after a day of eating well, studying, and working caused a pleasant physical fatigue. Plus, a pocket full of money, with a guarantee of more to come, provided a very comforting mental and emotional blanket. Also, knowing that I did not need to get up and do anything urgently, and could therefore probably sleep until noon, helped my relaxation immensely, as well.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

_Zoom… whoosh… swoop… rise… hover… glide… float… ease.. drift… CRASH_

Day 7: Monday, November 14th

My plan to sleep well into, or past, the morning was foiled. Stretch-fingered Tallwind and Mike of the puffy head were banging on the various bedroom doors of the rental house and calling everyone outside. It was just past sunrise. Eight of us gathered on the front lawn, in our sleeping attire and rubbing our eyes and yawning. Of course, that mostly meant the others were in their jean and jackets, as I had been the only one of us to invest in pajamas. Although it at least looked like Tegan had pulled her pants on fresh to come out into public, rather than having slept in them all night.

"Hey," Wade said as we were shuffling out the door, "Where's Solanna?"

The sleepy redheaded lady shrugged as she slipped into her quilted coat, "She wasn't in our room. Does anyone even know if she came home last night?"

Most eyes turned to the plodding giant-cat fellow, as he had supposedly gone with Sol to O'Bleness Memorial. "Nope." Rai offered with a slight head shake.

The subject was dropped after that, as we all saw the reason for Tallwind and his boy sidekick's rude awakenings. The sky was still a blanket of clouds, tinted rose and salmon by the rising sun. The clouds were also thinner than the day before, so the dawn light was reasonably bright. Combined with my too little sleep, my eyes ached with the daylight, the chill air, and at what they saw. In the dark, none of the rest of us had noticed, however Tallwind and Mike did not have that luxury in as they returned only minutes prior to knocking on our doors. The front of our collective's little ranch-style had been heavily graffitied.

Everyone in our group each made their own short-lived clouds as our breaths plumed and billowed forth into the crisp November morning. Tallwind snapped into his private-eye mode, squatting around the shrubbery and squinting at the ground and lawn. The rest of us just stood and tried to make sense of what we saw. Our suburban house front had been "decorated" with giant crimson-penises and other lewdness. Amid the swear words, the phrase "HOBBS GO HOME!" stood out as unfamiliar language. I felt an inexplicable chill greater than what the cold air could produce.

After a minute or so, the wrinkle-laden investigator proclaimed, "At least two people, but maybe three or four, did this with true red spray paint." He held up an empty can with a handkerchief by the tips of his long fingers.

The beady-eyed and whiskered Runner and I, and possible one or two of the others, sighed with relief. I know I had been worried the red medium had been blood. I assume my allies expected the same.

Tallwind looked around a little more, widening his search from the base of the house. The rest of us wasted some time with asking the un-answerable, "Who did this?", "Who would want to?", "Why would they want to?", "What's a Hobb?", "How long must it have taken?", and the like. In relatively short order we all got fed up with shivering in the cold and looking at obscenities.

Tallwind limped off into the neighborhood without saying anything more, yet regularly checking the paved road as if following a trail. The rest of us went inside and started the process of the day, showers, getting dressed, and eating. We skipped our regular breakfast conference. Although as folks bustled about there was some concerns voiced about wanting to get the house repainted as soon as possible.

Rai pretty much ignored the situation and returned to the garage, apparently his Suzuki still needed some tweaking. Wade, Tegan, Runner, and Gavin all left for their jobs, or there had been some mention of seeking information about hobbs from the library or Sheaves & Leaves.

Surprisingly, Mike offered, before everyone else departed, "Hey, um, I could repaint the house, if someone else bought the paint and supplies."

I was impressed that the verdantly-stained man was willing to actually work at something, especially a task that I considered long, laborious, and dull. So, I proposed, "I got a few hundred dollars that I could put towards the painting now as long as I get reimbursed at rent time." A faint and delicate thrum settled into me, acknowledging the tenuous bargain.

Tegan clapped her dainty hands for attention, "Also, that much work should be worth something, right?" her emerald eyes scanned to make sure we were all listening, in our various states of preparation. "So, I think we should let Mike's labor count as his first month's rent, if he wants to join this group."

Rai, Sol, and Tallwind were absent, however the remaining four of us agreed with the beauteous redhead for a majority consensus. As impressed as I was with the cloud-head's offer, I was still leery of his motives—something about the guy just made my neck muscles tense. I had a fleeting concern that I was just going along because Tegan had suggested it and that her reported influential faery gift might have been swaying my decision. Then I realized that it was highly unlikely that any of the absentee votes would have been negative, so I chose to just go along with what seemed inevitable.

The faint thrum intensified in pitch as it joined with the similar sensation that I associated with our collectives deal to work together for food and shelter.

As much as I would have preferred to return to sleep, after most of the others had departed, I wanted the house made presentable even more. Chef Rosa's admonishment to not draw mortal attention echoed in my mind, in addition to simply having some basic pride in my abode. So, I dressed, drove to Lowe's, and bought the painting supplies. I tried to raise my spirits and affection for the rental property by selecting more appealing colors; the siding had been dingy-white with sun-faced-turquoise trim, I replaced it with cheerful pale-yellow and summery green for the trim. I also had an idea for deterring future vandalisms, so in addition to the paint, I picked up some one-by-fours and three inch nails. Then, swung by Wal-Mart and picked up a small TV/radio (plug in and battery powered options), a lot more salt, and a cheap track phone; finishing off my fist night's pay.

Once the paint was delivered, I had anticipated a release of the internal pressure/sensation that had seemed to come each time I fulfilled my half of a bargain. Instead, when I concentrated on that internal sensation, I only experienced a sort of brief welling in regards to the particular resonance I equated to our group's agreement to pool resources. Not unsatisfying at all, just not what I had expected.

While Mike primed and painted outside, I activated my phone and left the new number on a list with the rest of the housemates', magnetted to the fridge. Then I completed one of the salt rituals I had discovered in the book that Tegan had half-jokingly given to me. It involved a lot of floor scrubbing and sweeping the salt out in a particular manner. If successful, that ritual cleared out any bad mojo and warded the house against malignant spirits entering. The last chore I had assigned myself was to use Rai's tools to pound nails through the boards I had bought. Rai and his crotch-rocket had apparently left some time earlier.

The nails speared out of one side of the wood in irregular rows. Later, when Mike had finished painting, I laid the spiked planks on the ground against the base of our house, in the bushes and flower beds. The nails pointed upwards. Then I lightly covered the wood with dirt to obscure the trap further.

By the time I had finished with my chores, I had invigorated myself too much to take a nap. So, I cleaned some carrots for a snack, plugged in the 2" TV/radio, and sifted through the very few channels that would come in. Specifically, I looked for and found one of those daytime talk show/white-trash tragedy fests. When the chairs started flying, I did my best to soak in the rage from the recorded program. It was fruitless, as I had suspected it would be, even though I had felt that it had been important to try.

Mike had come in as I was kneeling over the small device as if I were religiously laying on hands. "Uh," the paint freckled lad said, "what are you doing?"

I was a little embarrassed to have been caught attempting something so fruitless. Plus, I flashed on an idea for another experiment. So, I indignantly countered with, "Me? What are you doing? There's no way the house is repainted yet."

That got the self proclaimed programmer riled up quick. However, I had no success drawing on that spluttering rage either. Although, I did feel a disproportionate amount of personal pleasure at having so deftly pushed Mike's buttons—so much so, that I seriously considered just leaving it there.

I reconsidered though, because I would have to share a living space with the wisp-haired guy, for at least the next month. Plus, and more importantly, Mike might get all petty and not finish the painting right away. I believed the man felt a similar thruming sensation gently compelling hum to follow through with what he said he would do. However Mike had not specified any particular time frame, so I was not confident how much compulsion was actually being applied.

So, I raised my hands, patted the air placatingly, and smiled, "I'm just messing with you dude… Well, not just messing." I went on to share what the rest of us had discovered about sort of feeding from emotions. I ended my monolog by waving to the tiny television, "So, I was just checking to see if the emotions have to be live and in person. They do." I shrugged my right shoulder. "Then you came in and I wanted to try it on another spirit-touched. It also did not work." I screwed up my face as I thought about the implications of what I had just verified. Then remembered, "Oh, by the way, I don't think anyone mentioned earlier, December's share of rent will be a hundred and forty bucks."

Mike smiled with lightning crooked, yet impressively white, teeth. "Sounds good to me." He gulped down the last of the water for which he had originally come in. "You know, it occurs to me, if you're looking for lots of reliably angry people you should go hang at the airport or DMV."

I rolled my amber-eyes and said "Thanks, I'll think about it." And Mike grunted a suit-yourself noise and went back outside. I regretted, a little, having not yet placed the spiked boards.

Honestly, green-kneed cloud-head's big guess for finding angry people was the DMV?! I have never been angry or seen anyone else angry at a Department of Motor Vehicles—Impatient, worried, despairing, absolutely, bored beyond comprehension, you better believe it, but never anger. And while the airport was only a twenty minute drive, it was not exactly a TSA nightmare—from what I saw years ago, the little local rarely has many seemed to have many people at any one time, to be made irritated by delays or mishandled luggage. Even so, the suggestions did get me thinking and I added a set of searches to my next library to-do-list.

Meanwhile, something about my pleasure at annoying the blue-eyed bozo and my contempt for his idea about the DMV, clicked a couple of more pieced in my mind. Mike had protected that name with Russel. I saw an image of the sneering boy against a bluish-grey haze and with wind whipping the tendrils of his hair-of-condensation, as he told me to call him Russel. My own mind's voice said to chide him as Rusty, knowing full well he would insist that his name was "something Russel". Just as I believed that Tegan was "Tegan something", there was still part of Russel's fae name that eluded me.

I did eventually get a few more hours rest in the afternoon. Russel had finished repainting the house, by the time all the rest had returned and we all sprawled in the living room once more. I had prepared a simple couple of roast chickens and roasted vegetables, since I happened to be home to do so.

Tegan was in a different, fully buttoned, flannel shirt (green and yellow, instead of green and brown), it's nature was just as unflattering and her figure was just as able to compensate. The creamy-skinned lady's built-in cosmetics had adjusted accordingly to insure that she remained perpetually well coordinated. As we settled down to eat, Tegan's breathy voice was eager, "I talked to a few people at Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, today. Mostly, I just sort of got my bearings, you know?" Her emerald eyes sought out some understanding of how overwhelming the magical location was.

Only Gavin and I were able to provided supportive nods. None of the others in the room had spent any serious time in the bookstore, let alone the extra-dimensional rare books section.

"I did learn a couple of things, though." The woman's freckle-dusted cheeks dimpled as she smiled at what little encouragement she had received. "Like the emotion gathering thing is called a bunch of stuff, but usually either Threshing or Winnowing."

"Urmph Like forrrr grain rrerr harvesting?" Runner rumbled as he slid his back down his favored eating corner.

"I guess so," Than tilted her head to the side in a quick half shrug that sent her deep-crimson hair to swaying, "sort of. Apparently, if you just go about it like we have, it's winnowing. But, if you intentionally provoke the target person to feel a certain way, it's threshing…" her red brows arched with uncertainty over her emerald orbs. "I, also got the feeling that emotions isn't quite the right way to think about, but the guy I was talking to had friends that said he had to go."

Tegan cut up some of the chicken and vegetables. "Anyway, someone else told me that 'hob' is a derogatory term used for weaker spirit-touched. Sometimes it's like peasant or lackey, only ruder, but mostly it's used for animals." Her crystal-green eyes flashed. "So whoever tagged our house, must know what we've become and not like it much." Tegan tended to forget to put her silky hair up before starting to eat, so as she leaned forward to keep her fork over the plate in her lap, a shinny auburn curtain draped her delicately tapered face. "Oh," Tegan raise her flattened hand, palm to her, obscuring her red petal mouth as she spoke while chewing potato, "and around here it's more common to say fae or changeling, than spirit-touched."

I wondered whom Tegan's source for that last bit of information was, as none of the people I had spoken with at the magical book and tea shop had made any such assertions. Even so, fae and changeling did seem far more occidental the loosely translated Asian spirit-touch. Still, like fetch, changeling sounded less poetic to my ears.

The agitated conversation drew me back out of my distracted musings. The other seven members of the house were all on edge, more so than usual, with the revelation that the vandalism had been caused by someone that might know of our modified lives. I did not like that we might still be targets of something, however my nervousness had subsided somewhat throughout the day as I reasoned that if the culprits knew of hobs then they must be aware enough of the faery world to not jeopardize the ancient bargain of which Rosa had spoke.

Even so, being targets was bad enough. Therefore the eight of us (Sol the eerie, still had not returned) agreed to keep three watches, in teams of two and threes, through the night. I volunteered for the first slot, as it matched up best with the shift I would be working at Elements. Svelt and fuzzy Runner joined me, by default from not having any specific preference. The hirsute otter-man mumble-grumped something about being able to sleep anytime.

Somewhere in the evening's conversation, Tallwind revealed, "Yeah, I took a paying gig." His mud-brown eyes stared daggers around the room, challenging anyone to give him grief. "I'm a barker for The Pizza Palace."

Most of my allies just blinked dumbly at the wrinkled man's choice of words. Wade had been scratching the back of his neck, then looked at Tallwind, "Wait a minute, barker? You mean your one of those guys that hold a sign at the side of the road to advertise the pizza joint?"

Tallwind simply nodded one stiff nod.

"Oooo!" Russel's voice was layered with fake awe. "Does that mean you get to wear a costume?"

"Fine." Tallwind's eyes and shoulder's drooped, accentuating his loose skin even more. "Yes, I have to dance around wearing a mascot outfit shaped like a slice of pizza with a crown and twirling a Pizza Palace sign. Okay? Go ahead and have fun." He tossed his hands up in disgusted surrender, fingers like wheel spokes.

And we did, for at least fifteen laughter and mockery filled minutes. Personally, I enjoyed the absurdity and indignity of the idea of the stiff sided bag of wrinkles in a smelly mascot costume. Although, I was also dumbfounded that someone of Tallwind's age and supposed experience would even consider so lowly a position. I began to more seriously wonder if faery-burned man really had done much of anything before signing his name over to Anwynn, let alone function as a private investigator.

According to the clock in my TV/radio it was about ten minutes past one, when Gavin and Tallwind woke the whole house. Rai was also on their watch, yet stood passively as the rest of us assembled . I could have used my new phone to tell the time, as my cohorts had been doing with their own cells, however since none of my allies had seen fit to express any amount of appreciation or interest in my little entertainment purchase, had moved the device into my room. I had only been asleep, after my shift on guard duty, for less then ten minutes.

I was impressed with myself for how little I let the disturbance sour my mood. I had been on the verge of passing out from boredom throughout my watch, in spite of sitting in the living room quietly trying to find something worth listening to on my TV/radio. Although, being alone did not help to stimulate me; Runner had hung-out outside and watched the back yard. As an aside, I did find some decent music, for like one song, then an endless stream of commercials inevitably had me turning the dial. Regardless, I had fallen into a deep slumber right away when relieved of duty, yet felt aware and alert, as soon as Gavin's coarse brick-hand started to shake me.

Our octet reconvened in the living room, where Gavin's polish-marble eye's were a little wild, as he explained, "I saw them smash our mailbox." He pointed a think rectangular finger to the front of the house and most of us gathered at the living room's picture window. The red-orange man continued, as we assessed the small pile of debris in the faint moonlight, "I heard a car with blaring music coming down the street and there was some odd banging every so often." He was making gestures with his flat hands as if mimicking a cars movement, then shrugged. "I assumed the car was backfiring, but thought I should check it out anyway. Just as I got to the window, they were passing out front." He wagged his blocky-finger again at the lawn and swallowed, seeming to decide to continue, in spite of knowing how it was going to sound.

"The car was a dark—blue or black, maybe—hatchback, beater of some kind. It was full of like six or eight of them. Some were hanging out of the windows on either side and a couple had baseball bats. They were playing mailbox baseball, that was the banging I had heard. they smashed ours to bits as they passed." Gavin made the exploding gesture with his hands, then swallowed once more convincing himself to say what he believed he had seen. "The thing is, they weren't like people. They sort of looked like frat kids in 'Reds hats. But I got a good look in the street light. They had sort of lumpy faces and their mouths were too big and full of really sharp teeth… and the hats were dripping red. I'm sure it was blood."

"Redcaps," I blurted reflexively, thinking of a Lit. class I had taken that had focused a lot on violence in classic fairy tales.

I was too curious about the new vandalism at that time to concern myself with Gavin's odd reticence to describe the vandals. It was almost as if the rocky bodybuilder had been asleep for the last week, or maybe had suffered a blow to his squared noggin. I guess Gavin may have been surprised that other changelings might be mean and nasty, as we had all gotten along well enough and the few fae we had encountered at Sheaves & Leaves had all been pleasant enough. Even so, with our graffiti incident and what Tegan had said Hobs meant, I felt like it was inevitable that our culprits were nasty fae.

Some of our neighbors had gone into their yards to survey the overall damage to the street. I slipped on my Dock Martins and coat and followed suit. I wanted to see if any of the normals knew anything useful. And the neighbors were all regular mortals as far as I could see.

I concentrated on damping down my luminous faery-aura as low as I could, so as not to appear as a beacon to the neighborhood. I was not even sure if normal people could see the faery light, but did not want to find out there or then.

I crossed the street kitty corner, to the nearest person I saw actually outside of his door. He was at his own demolished mailbox. The box had clearly been a cheap model and was in no way salvageable. The man was in his forties, balding, wearing a bathrobe over plane t-shirt and sweat-pants with slippers for his feet. He was too infuriated to notice the temperature, somewhere in the thirties.

123 So, I caught two birds with one stone, as it were. I reached out my delicate tan hand and said, "Hi there, my name's Tommy. Me and my roommates just moved in across the street." I nodded to our freshly painted rental and a few of my housemates that had moved outside to mill about our lawn.

The neighbor guy shook my hand briefly and said, "Larry." By way of introducing himself.

I felt the strongest rush of absorbed anger that I had yet experienced. If I had not been ready for it, I might have gone blissfully glazed and tried hugging the rest of the anger out of Larry. As it was, I clamped down fast and tight on my desire for more as soon as I had started feeling the rush. So, I was fairly certain that my neighbor had not noticed anything odd about my reaction to his handshake. Although, I did make a mental note to test if physical contact had been a key to that extra boost of the weird vitality.

"So," I placed my hands in my jacket pockets and glanced pointedly at Larry's shattered mailbox, "this happen a lot?"

Larry glowered, "This was my third freaking box this year." He shook his head, "I want to get one made of concrete, but who has the time to pour that out?..." another shake, a bit more defeated. "It would teach the bastards a lesson though, next time they take a bat to it."

I tentatively drew…winnowed, that is, some more the man's anger. I wanted to prove to myself that I could winnow the energy, steadily enough not to get all loopy, as well as maintain a conversation while doing so. I was also curious to discover if I would reach a saturation point, like being to full to eat any more.

"Hmm," I tried too draw Larry out more, "My roommate is pretty handy, he might be able to help with a new mailbox." I was thinking of Gavin or Rai, but Russel or Tallwind could probably serve as well, if we really followed up on this offer. "So, three times, huh?"

"Yeah," Larry's anger was turning to regret, "This neighborhood started going downhill two years ago. I used to know all my neighbors, but they all got out and the renters rarely stay fore than a few months." He looked at me a little guilty and shifted the topic. "The worst thing is, it always seems to be just the same bunch of college assholes."

"Really?" I feigned surprise. "And it's been going on this long?"

Larry shrugged and started pushing the remains of his mailbox into a pile with his feet. "They live somewhere in the area, but I don't know where exactly. The cops know, but they never seem to do anything. And the assholes seem to be getting bolder and more violent." He seemed like he wanted to get angry again, yet was too tired for the effort.

I thought back to how eager the rental's previous tenants had been to leave, no questions asked. The redcap/frat-assholes must have been the thing our subletees had not wanted to talk about. I had to chalk that up to a buyer beware lesson.

Larry's subsiding rage went away fairly quick. The dissipation may have been me talking sympathetically with the man. Mostly, I think, it was my drawing on Larry's anger. The middle-aged guy got the sort of vacant glassy stare I thought I had seen in other… victims? Prey? Neither felt right, although I had to admit were technically accurate. Larry was the first time I was not in a crowded place and paying attention to a bunch of other stuff. Witnessing the effect of winnowing was fascinating and sad. Only, my sadness was because Larry's anger was gone and I wanted more. As I watched the somewhat frumpy fellow go back into his house, I only regretted that I had not thought of something to say that would have made him mad some more and practiced the threshing aspect of the process.

Returning to my own side of the street, I tried to assess my internal sense of the weird vitality I had stored up. I was definitively more sated than I had been to that point. However, I still felt a much more muted desire for more. So, either there was no saturation level and I would always crave some more anger, or I just had not reached my limit, yet.

Back inside my gang's place, I reported what Larry had said. Tallwind admitted, "Well, I'm pretty sure I know which house belongs to these, uh, redcaps—I guess we're calling 'em."

Our group collectively looked at the wrinkly man with incredulity.

Tallwind shrugged, causing his yellowed-grey skin to undulate, "I found it by tracking an oil spill in from a car that had been parked in front of our place. But I couldn't be sure the car had been parked last night while they were tagging the house." The gruff man slicked back his thinning hair. "I'm still not even a hundred percent that the trail stopped at their place and not some other victims."

I was not sure if I should be impressed that Tallwind had actually done something full on sleuth-y, or if I should be upset that he had chosen to not share the information earlier.

"So," I said, channeling my irritation towards the vandals, "we gotta go and check it out, right? If it's not them, then we don't do anything. But if it is them, then we can plan some retaliation."

My comrades looked at me with a little wide-eyed uncertainty. It is possible my vengeful enthusiasm had caught some of them off guard. I did not care, because I knew instinctively that we had to either put this alpha-dog jerks in their place, or be ready to take more abuse. And, for me, the abuse thing was not a willing option.

The discussion was fairly brief. It was quickly agreed that all eight of us would not go for a simple scouting/look around. Plus, Runner, Rai, and Russel did not particularly care to go. Tegan was curious, however chose to stay home in favor of sending a smaller party. Honestly, I think Tallwind would have preferred not to go, except Gavin insisted the old limping man needed to lead us.

I have no idea why basic directions with a street address were not sufficient for the ex-fireman. By then I just wanted to stop talking about it and Tallwind had caved to the peer pressure.

After getting properly dressed, Tallwind, Gavin, Wade, and I walked the thee blocks over to the suspected property. It was a two story, brick, colonial with detached garage. Sure enough, the frat boys/redcaps (frat-caps, if you will) were inside and they were continuing to party loudly, drunkenly, and stupidly in the pre-dawn hour. I felt a great deal of sympathy for the immediate neighbors.

Gavin and I snuck up to the garage and carefully opened it to verify that the beat up vehicle my earthen companion had seen earlier was there. It was. There were also three fairly large dog carcasses hanging from the rafters creating a palpable stench.

Tallwind continued to voyeuristically lurk in the shadows near the street. However, Wade crept over the crappy Geo Metro, found a bat in the back seat, and took the club to bash their mailbox to pieces. Meanwhile, I found some broken beer bottles and placed the sharp things unobtrusively under each of the car's wheels. The tires would be fine, until the frat-caps backed up at all.

I had worried that Wade's retaliatory vandalism would draw the villainous drunkards out, before Gavin and I could rejoin the weathered fencer. Yet, the goons had not heard a thing. Their music was so loud that the neighbor's windows buzzed to the beat.

Wade jammed the bat into the ground next to the devastated mailbox. "Well, that was fun, I guess. But not nearly satisfying enough."

"Yeah, yeah," I nodded vigorously and kept looking to see if any of the house's inhabitants were about to emerge, "should we go knock, or call them out here, or something."

"I don't know Tommy…" Gavin rubbed the back of his gravely neck. "They out number us, if they come all at once. And they probably have more weapons."

"Plus," Tallwind nodded and raised one long pointy thumb up to Gavin. "They're changelings, or whatever, like us, right? Only they've probably been at this longer and have some idea how to use their bizarre powers, or gifts, or whatever."

"Yeah," I hung my head and kicked the dirt, 'that makes sense. And if they really are anything like historical redcaps, then they probably have some pretty dangerous magic."

We decided to just go home and back to sleep. Although, we also determined on the walk back that, when we woke again, we would at least learn if these frat-caps had any special attacks to avoid or weaknesses to exploit.

I was surprised to discover that I was getting back onto my air-mattress at around 2:40, meaning the whole affair had only taken about an hour and a half. I also assumed I would be lying awake for quite some time trying to calm down enough to sleep—I was wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

_T wilight Tommy…_Lyrical like the songs of forever calling, reminding, taunting… zoom in, see Tommy, dull fleshy creature, being sold to Master Aeolian... speed reel, show journey to His Castle in the Sky.. jump cut after jump cut, zooms, pans, and twirls… feeding on moonlight… Learning secrets of clouds… Blessed with beauty that touches hardest hearts… Struggling confusion… Gamboling and gaming in Twilight Lands… Trying to understand bright hard ways of stars… Eating stray fancies… Learning how to keep sunshine in a pocket… Forgetting Time and for the snub Time refusing to acknowledge such an arrogant, foolish boy… First hints of choleric favor, a gossamer to tan the skin… Loosing heart's fire… Choosing the Rust-Red Spear of Fiery Summer… Weaving shadows… Slaking hunger for magic with mortal anger… Wrapped again in rare reward, streaks of summer sun color hair gold… Slowly replacing lost heat with pure Faery light… New cold heart of a distant star… Fairest Lumor, burning with nothing more than self adoration… Another grace-filled mantle of allegiance won, iris's flash moods as discs of gem, deep crystalline reds through typical ambers to the rarest bright yellows… Dark fade out, darker fade in… Feeling Aeolian's wrath beyond reason…. Blur-fade, See Tommy in the hospital, rediscovering the scars of the anger…

Day 8: Tuesday, November 15th

I jerked awake, causing my inflated mattress to bounce, while I veritably vibrated with ill contained shock-wonder and fear-desire. The dream-memories had broken a significant hole in the dam of my fae related amnesia. My body could not reconcile yearning so badly to both giggle with knowing flee and needing to weep with awful terror.

Eventually, I gained enough self control to peer over the edge of my bed. I had wedged the TV/radio between my mattress and the wall, so that it's light would not disturb my roommates and the two surfaces would hold the device upright for earlier reading. The red LED display flickered from 3:01 to 3:02 am. Of course, I had woke at three and spent two whole minutes just trying to relax enough to check the time. Which prompted my first thought, that was not a direct reflection on the dream-memories, was "Seven more days", for it had been that exactly since returning to the Mortal World after seven years and seven days in captivity.

Since I was as safe as I could be and still in the Realms Human, I allowed myself to lay back once more and let the flashes of returned knowledge illuminate and arrange mental puzzle pieces—some from the past week, some older/new again. As my mind sorted, my body followed suit and I shook again, this time with the slow release of tension from every muscle all at once.

How to convey what my dream-memory (dreamemory? Or dreamory, perhaps?) unlocked? I certainly did not have all of my memories back, nor was my recovered knowledge linear or even wholly conscious. Much of what had had returned to me, settled in my being as instinctual understandings. Although, all of what I did retrieve—whether conscious or ingrain—was mine, by right and without question—I knew it to be so down to my gleaming core… I suppose, I shall touch on what key aspects that I am sure came to me at that time; the other elements are tangled with other moments of my early days back in the Real World.

First, if any kind of chronology might apply, was that Anwynn had sold me, and others, to my glorious-horrible Master, Aeolian. I had sold my True Name to the vile doctor and that gave him power over me, then he in turn sold it to Master Aeolian. My new Bright-Shadowy Master only claimed some of Dr. A's chattel, the rest were fondly-gruesomely snatched, collected, and gobbled up by other of the Folk of legends and lore.

Of glorious-horrendous Aeolian, I could recall only feelings—nauseating and elated feelings. Terrible, fickle, damning, and challenging was Aeolian—He was the Keeper I had been forced to serve and to desire to serve. Even in generosity, He was all those things. I shivered again.

My Bright-One Master had reshaped me to his will, possibly even for some purpose, although more likely it was just whimsy. He had deemed me dull and set about burnishing to make me shine. And the shiniest are the stars and sun and moon… l Lumors. Glowing with a celestial light a lumor must be as fair to gaze upon as those other heavenly bodies, for Nature's light will not embrace anything less.. So, my name's Keeper twisted my outlooks, reshaped my innards, adjusted my attitudes, and selected my memories. And over an endless moment of time that lasted far longer than I could fathom, yet fit within the mortal reckoning of seven years and seven days, I was given-made-taught how to cast light about me—amongst other faery magics.

The horrible-amazing process or the proximity to our Masters or both tended to cause us captives to also become pale impressions of the True Fae to whom we were bound—like ventriloquist dummies that look are carved to resemble their puppeteer. In my case a slight elfin build, complete with tapered ears, boyish looks, and clear crystalline irises… I clench my sun-toasted fists and gemstone-eyes tight and tried to steady my breathing... and continued clicking the dreamemories into their places.

While my underlying alterations had been my Keeper's doing and without any regard to my desires, there had been other aspects that I had gained by my choices. There were forces other than the Bright Ones, forces with strange and impossible relations to the Masters and to the spirit touched and even the hobs. I am sure I never grasped the intricacies of hose relations when I was there, let alone after returning to the Mortal World. That did not prevent me from becoming part of them, though. I had impressed Summer-Fire and gained Its attention.

Again I cannot explain how Summer and Fire were both concepts and thing and could be bargained with, yet that is what happened in that place beyond the Wilder Wood, the Thorny Briar, the Maze of the Edge. And Fire-Summer graced me with gifts and lore. I wore my choleric Grace still as proof that Summer-fire still honored our deal, My forever tan skin, sun-streaked hair, and changeable color to my otherwise clear eyes. Also, Fire-Summer had a more intimate relation with the World of Men and Women and I had garnered more Grace than most, so some of the markings of my allegiance bled through the Masque that guarded my fae appearance. Which is what Rosa had meant about my summery disposition.

It was part of my pact with the elemental force of long days and lasting flames that aided me in gathering the vital energy of faery magic through the rage of mortals. Although, I now understood for certain it was not the anger itself that I threshed or winnowed away. The clearer truth would require discovering another puzzle piece in the more typical manner.

I had a much better understanding of my faery magics, as well. However, this knowing was very deeply of that instinctual type, I mentioned earlier. On a more conscious level, I understood better about how the magics were tied to deals and promises and secrets—so very much of the un-mortal world was. My chosen connection to the temperament/season/element, Fire-Summer, as well as my forced bondage to the shining/pernicious/terrible/caring, Aeolian. The binding of oaths had become one with me in my transformation captivity and sometimes those vows garnered me some lasting benefits, such as certain magical secrets.

Therefore, I also saw how the pieces of promises making and names fit together. Oaths—for any agreement is just some manner of oath, some simply more serious than others—are only as good and strong as their backing. Thus, a deal to give someone else a car, coat, cracker, or the like in exchange for money is only as good for one side as the cash is reliable tender, or the sold object functions as advertised for the other person. In the more ephemeral lives of the Fold and their creations, all sorts of things have value beyond money. Thus, I saw-felt again how True Names—such as mortal mothers gave their once mortal sons—were amongst the most useful and potent backers.

It must have been a lesson that I learned early in my captivity and so, I became Twilight Tommy. Thus, protecting myself from the most dominating casual cruelties at the whims of other fae creatures. Which only stood to reason that my fellow escapee changelings must also have done the same, so my pseudonyms for them also had to be, at least, partially correct. Not that these faery names were able to stop any of the gleaming-malicious Lords or Ladies from misusing what they had bargained away from reassuring-duplicitous Anwynn.

For, yes indeed, the Folk that had mimicked a Kendal research physician had not told His beautiful-greedy buyers about he time limit in our original contracts—the oaths that had sealed our fates. That first vow backed by our True Names had been powerful enough to supersede our secondary captors, allowing us to flee… I still did not recall the mad scrabble through the Briar Between, however I did understand with a rapidly pounding heart that the flight had been necessary. The True Fae did not like to loose any of their things and would hunt us down, were most likely hunting us at that moment.

I calmed again as Rosa's sweet and amused voice returned to my memory once more, reminding me of the Masque that the Mortal World granted our kind. The Chef had warned against dropping the Masque and my dreamembering had showed me how to do that thing. However, the Masque helps hide spirit-touched from seeking Keepers, almost as much as it deceives mortals. To remove the Masque is practically to ring a bell and call the Folk.

All of these epiphanies and connections, as well as other smaller truths and links, washed over me in a very short span. I did not check my clock again, although I doubt more than fifteen or twenty minutes could have lapsed. I also knew that I was not alone in such contemplations. My roommates, Wade leathery and scarred and the brick-ish Gavin, must have also been awake from the sounds of their measured breaths. The other two must have dealt as I, that these thoughts were not meant for sharing in that time and at that place.

The dream and the revelations that followed left me exhausted. Eventually, I slipped back into sleep, reviewing all of my regained knowledge and the revised questions that formed of it, over and over. I hoped with as much desperation as I could conjure to be able to retain the bounty of memories on waking again, yet could not muster the strength to move for my note pad.

In the morning—the proper get-up-and-have-breakfast morning—the household was more subdued than usual. Everyone was more lost in private thought. All except Rai that is: there is no gauge that measures him being more lost-in-thought than his normal state. Even I spent most of my attention on furiously scribbling notes to myself about the night's mental breakthroughs. Although , I probably did not need to, the dream seemed to be as lastingly vivid as had been my other disturbing dream-nightmares.

Of course, none of my housemates offered to share any dreams at that mealtime. It figured that, as soon as I wanted them blabbing about what was in fact useful knowledge—as well as their personal fae secrets—they all have enough awareness to clam up. Not that I had any intention to use anyone else's secrets for myself or against them. I just liked the idea of having some insurance against heir potential bad behavior. On the other hand, we did all know each other's True Names, at least as much as we had revealed to the rotten Dr. A. And I was certain that my colleagues each remembered my given name as well as I remembered each of theirs, in spite of most of them so often seeming so oblivious and forgetful.

Which led me to wonder, and hope, that if the commune had indeed once more all experienced similar dreamemberings, that perhaps they might stop being quite so flaky in general.

By the time breakfast was finished, the eight of us had each shaken off the moody introspection of the night and made plans for the day. Ostensibly, all of us would be going to Sheaves & Leaves to consolidate our efforts in looking up information on redcaps. After Tallwind shared with the whole group what had transpired at the frat-cap's house, all of us were convinced that the 'caps would be coming for us again—probably harder and meaner. So, we hoped that the spirit-touched rare books would provide some valuable insights as to how we may prepare, preferably with a strong counter-offense strategy.

Tallwind had cynically advocated in his gruffest early morning tones, "We could just burn the 'cap's house down. Preferably with them in it."

Gavin's usually jovial demeanor vanished, his face reached maximum stoniness, and his polished blue-marble eyes bore into the older and saggier man, "No. We do not set fires. There are innocent neighbors and a house fire can spread out of control too fast in Fall weather." Whatever changes the red-orange fellow's Keeper had made in him, it did not effect his fireman's training.

Rai's 'cycle was finally running to the large predatory-man's satisfaction, so he drove himself, in spite of the barely above forty degree temperature and drizzle slicked roads. The remaining seven of us were again split between my Festiva and Runner's taxi.

The otter-looking guy drove like a madman, weaving and careening through traffic like he was in an action movie chase scene. I guess Runner had always been driving like that, I just had not paid attention. Needles to say, I obeyed the rules of the road and arrived several minutes behind the hack.

As my car disembarked, Rai pulled into the gravel lot with a wisp of a passenger clinging to his broad back. Sol, looked ill as she always did during the day, yet no worse for the wet autumnal motorcycle trip.

Once inside Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, Gavin and I went straight on through to the members only area, while our auburn and alabaster beauty helped the others obtain their own memberships.

I made a beeline for the area marked Dark with Gavin in my wake. The cramped, little, incredibly shadowy room had made me uncomfortable the one time I had entered and my stony companion tended to make me nervous when he towered over me, so I figured I would pit the location's creepiness against the large man's intimidating nature. The walking stone wall was most likely more stalwart than myself, so the Dark section's unsettling qualities may not even effect him.

I opened the dark wood door, set back in its shadowy alcove, and made a little bow and hand gesture to let Gavin enter, "You see what you can find here and we'll meet up in a bit."

"You betcha." The man saluted with a grin and two thick orange and pitted fingers.

I closed the door behind my oblivious ally and headed off, grinning, before he could call for my assistance. If the once upon a time fireman was not more steadfast in gloomy cramped places, then at least someone else would get to experience the chills that I had. Also, Gavin tended to loom around me, posing and flexing his rough hewn muscles, making it hard to concentrate and I did not need his help for lifting books from shelves…shelves from floors or floors from buildings, certainly, but I could not imagine my research would call for such feats. So, I expected the related unease of the Dark stacks would look much more amusing on Gavin than it felt on me.

I went looking for an employee, reasoning that there must be at least an information desk somewhere. I walked deeper into the back rooms than the building had any right to, moving farther than the outside of the building would indicate possible. I penciled notes as I went, referencing section titles, architecture, and bookcase constructions: Emotion section lining early 20th century staircase with shelving (distressed wood of varying shades) recessed into walls, or Geography in hall (cobblestone floor and antique mining style light fixtures) with shelves of metal in onside and cur into the stone wall on the other (like medieval crypts), and so on. I was hoping that at least two of the three references would remain the same for a return journey, as I had no reason to expect that anything was in fact stationary. I saw no evidence of shelves or sections moving, but just because I did not experience it did not make it impossible and fairy tales and myths often did have such things.

Plus, I was more convinced after my dreamembering that at least the rare books of Sheaves & Leaves were housed within part of the Winding Briar. And I knew from both the dream and the reading I had done a few days earlier that the Inbetween was notorious for mobile landmarks.

After last night's revelations, I also had many and more things that I desired to try and research in the rare and fantastic books that surrounded me. I resisted the urges to just start pulling books and reading any time a title seemed related to one of my new interests. I had enough experience from my college days to know it was best to stay focused on the topic for which I came in. Even dedicating my search to redcaps was likely to lead me down other tangents, so best not to leave that path before actually starting down it.

I saw an occasional unknown member browsing the stacks or reading off to one side. I did make an attempt to ask one of them for assistance. Standing at one of the many shelves of the Law section, was a tall cobalt blue man. He had a pair of long, straight, ibex-like, ebony horns growing from his forehead.

I approached him cautiously, yet without sneaking, and said, "Hello."

The devilish man turned his head to look at me. His half lidded snake-eyes panned me up and down a couple of times, slowly, before he replied, "Hello, yourself, pretty."

His languid tone could have taught Mae West and Marylyn Monroe a thing or two. I was instantly on guard. I had never had anyone address me so wantonly, so I was on unfamiliar ground. However, I could tell the man was acting predatory and I did not want to inadvertently encourage him.

"Uh," I tried to remember why I spoke in the first place, "I'm new here…"

The man smiled, showing extra long canines in a mouth with many pointy white-teeth. "Yes, you most certainly are, aren't you?" He did not purr, purrs are not able to go as low in the register as the noise he made.

I automatically took a half step back. I was worried that just leaving would either be too socially rude, or it would provoke him to chase me. I tried to stay on task, "Uh, yeah, okay…Anyway, I was wondering if you could give me directions…"

The guy's carnivorous smile widened, he closed the book he had been reading, turned to face me, and held the book in both hands in front of his crotch. His slit-eyes danced over me again, as he cut me off to say, "Certainly, turn around—slowly, so I can get a _really_ good look at you." He made the too-deep-to-be-a-purr sound again.

I was not prepared to cope with such additional complications as that person's innuendos. I said, "never mind," and backed around a corner before turning to leave. I did not mind that he had been male, generally any attention flattering, but I was not interested in returning such advances, From there I avoided disturbing anyone else, until I found someone that clearly worked for Sheaves and Leaves.

Eventually, I came upon a fastidiously dressed man, standing next to a cart full of books to be re-shelved. His dark hair was pulled into a small ponytail and his Vandyke was sharply trimmed. I caught glimpses of black, runic, tattoos at his wrists as he struggled with a grey lady. She was sitting in a chair. She was pretty and seemed not much older than me and she seemed glum—so much so that just looking at her dampened my spirits a little. Her almost uniform grey coloration (hair, skin, dress) was augmented by rolling beads of moisture (even on her clothes), as if she was in her own private black and white rainstorm. The two of them struggled over a book, each gripping two opposing corners. It resolved in the man's favor.

The woman remained in the chair looking forlorn. She made no move to go and did not seem to register that I had witnessed the struggle.

The man produced a towel from a compartment on the cart, started wiping his prize, and pushing the cart with his hips. He muttered something angrily about "…warned her." and "salt water".

I caught up to him in short order. As I got his attention, I noted a silver, spider web pin on his vest were a name tag might go. In the center of the pin was the stylized teacup on an open book that matched the one on the book/tea-shops front door and business card.

"Hi I'm Tommy," I introduced myself, "or Tom." I kept my hands clasped in front of me at waist height. I still was not quite ready to verbalize the full Twilight Tommy moniker.

The reedy man looked me over disapprovingly. "And?" His voice matched his look.

"_And,_ nameless worker person," I tried to sound jovial through my mild annoyance, "I am looking for books about redcaps. Can you direct me to such things?"

"I am known as Alistair." He still seemed snooty, but less indignant. "Redcaps will be filed in the ogre section." He made a flick with his right hand that could have been directional as easily as it could have been dismissive.

"Okay. I am new to all this… " I started to gesture, then corrected myself. "Ah, not books, I am very familiar with books. By this, I meant… well, all the rest of it." I attempted to smile reassuringly, but I'm not sure if it came out more maniacal.

Alistair, ali-stared at me.

"So, uh, yeah." I verbally marched on, as we both physically continued walking. "I have been a member here for only a few days and have not yet had the opportunity to familiarize myself with the extensive layout. Perhaps you could give me detailed directions to the ogre section."

Alistair now looked annoyed in that store clerk sort of way—the one that says _I cannot believe I am being asked to do my job_. Aloud he said, "You will have to follow me. There is no way _you_ could find it alone."

I followed, ignoring the way he emphasized 'you', like someone better than me could have found the section without assistance. First we made a stop at his desk, for him to leave the cart. The desk top was pristinely clean. The desk set was set to perfect ninety degree angles and spaced out with matching distances. I found the order both reassuring and amusing. The desk set's name plate read "Alistair Tomes" in no-nonsense block letters.

From there Alistair walked briskly. I was ready for that ploy and kept pace, happy enough to not be wondering aisles. The two of us strode swiftly down a hall, through a room, down two flights, up one, down again, more rooms and halls in between—the architecture changing radically in places.

As we walked I ventured to chat, partially to slow Alistair down a bit, "I noticed you had a bit of a tug-of-war with a lady back there."

"Hmph," his highly refined indignation also kept an easy pace, "I hardly consider her a lady: soaking the covers, warping the pages…."

"But she _is_ a member isn't she? She has the same rights to the books, right?" I could tell he felt my phrasing a bit accusatory. I tried to amend, "I mean, it's not her fault she's like she is, right?"

"Ha," Alistair said mirthlessly, "there is nothing keeping her from bringing a towel either, is there?"

I conceded his point. He was mildly surprised, as if unused to people agreeing with him—at least not so readily. For my part, I did think he was technically correct, but I also did not particularly care about his interaction with the girl. Additionally, he was assisting me, so I would probably have agreed with whatever he said to insure he continued to help.

By and by, we came to the Ogre section. It was in a stone room that looked to be part of a medieval tower. Narrow window slits and all. There was a marble statue of a man in the corner near the shelves I was directed to. These particular shelves appeared to be made of various bone, lashed together with hide. There was also a small roll top desk and matching chair in the room, for members. Glass bowled, gas lamps (shaped like marching elephants) helped the feeble daylight that drifted in through arrow-slit style windows.

Alistair indicated the bookcase, "I do not want to find any of the books burned or charred."

I blinked in surprise, "Um, okay." I guessed at his meaning. "I'll make sure to be careful of where the light fixtures are."

The clerk looked like he thought I was trying to make a joke and that he did not think it was funny. Alistair thrust his palm towards my face and waved it around my head, like he was testing the heat of a candle flame. Grudgingly satisfied the crisp man retracted his hand. "Well.. I suppose it will be alright."

I thanked Alistair. He clicked his heels and bent at the waist towards me. Not a bow, just something to look like he knew what a bow was and he was not going to bow to me. I did my best to mirror his gesture, knowing full well my Dock Martin hiking boots would not click. His eyes almost smiled, he left. I just found his affectations very amusing; I could not help but to parody it. Doing so felt so silly, I couldn't stop. I turned to the bookcase and drew out my pencil and note pad, repeating the stiff-legged click and bow-like gesture several times.

The first thing I did was record landmarks I had been keeping track of since Alistair's desk. My ploy to slow him down had worked enough for me to take notes of most of the trip. I was not sure I could have gotten back on my own with less. As I put my pad away, I noticed movement to my right.

The marble statue in the corner was not as much a statue of a man reading a book as I had thought. He had turned his head from his, not at all marble book, to watch me play my "pretend to be Alistair" game. His stony gaze considered me with mild curiosity. I turned ninety degrees to face him and did the click-bend one last time. He smiled, nodded, and returned to his reading.

I let a small part of the back of my mind _whoop_ and jig at the new fantastically and wondrous things and people I had just experience in the last half an hour or so. My revelatory dream had added some jade to my thinking, however not nearly enough to blind me to the marvels I was encountering. Even so, the frat caps posed a threat to my rented territory and there would be time enough for reveling later. Besides, if my statuesque fellow reader was any indication, playing it cool was working for me.

I found what looked like what might be a promising book and took it to the roll-top desk, to scan through. I repeated this action several times. When Gavin eventually showed up, I had about a dozen books piled on the desk, with a couple open at a time for cross referencing.

I had over heard Alistair at the bottom of the spiral, stone stairs that led up to the Ogre room. "He is up there." Then something indistinct, as whoever Alistair had spoken to, responded to the clerk's departing back. I could not see it, however I could just tell from the sound quality of the fussy bibliophile's receding steps what had happened.

Gavin, née of the Athens FD and semi-pro bodybuilder, turned out to have been the individual that Alistair had led. "Tom." He said by way of greeting, in that slightly drawn out tone that suggested the big man wanted to have stern words with a person. Gavin's chunky arms were at his side and his massive orangy hands were flexing in and out of boulder-fists.

Statue-man had departed at some point hours earlier, so Gavin and I were alone in this little, distant room. "Hey, Gavin!" I remained seated and faced the bid ex-firefighter, I put forth some cheerful energy to deflect his tension, "Was that Alistair I heard you with?"

"The anal guy with the goatee?"

I nodded. I would not have called Alistair anal… at least not within Areadne's—there was no way to tell who might hear what. I did not mention that to Gavin though, I was more interested in figuring out why he seemed to be in a grim mood—specifically, if I was the reason.

"Yeah, I was looking for you and he eventually agreed to show me the way." As the conversation continued along a neutral tangent to whatever Gavin's intent had been, he seemed to lose steam and focus and stopped clenching his mighty fists.

"Cool." I replied quick to keep this particular conversational momentum going, "Well, try the bone bookcase." I gestured to the shelves. "I think I have the key stuff here," I turned back to my reading, "but you might see something I missed." I was playing a hunch. Gavin seemed to be the kind of guy that once he's set on a course of action—like chewing you out for something—it is hard to distract him. However, if he has not wholly committed to a train of thought, then it is fairly easy to…. Well, if not successfully derail him, at least switch the tracks. The fact that the bookcase was made of bone was just weird enough, that he had to inspect it right away. As he did he noticed a thin book that he had to browse.

I had been watching him from the corner of my eye. Once he seemed fairly into the book, I made sure to speak in a casual chit-chat manner, so as not to distract him enough to remember his annoyance. "I found some good stuff on the redcaps. Do you know if any of the others had found anything?" I wanted to ask about what he found in the Dark section, however decided to get him thinking about the others instead. Since I put Gavin in the Dark and that was the last we had seen each other, I was guessing that had something to do with why he had used his I'm-not-happy-with-you voice.

"Oh yeah," he looked up with some recollection twinkle in his grey-blue eyes. "Tegan wanted everyone to come to the garden. It sounded sort of urgent."

I started closing and stacking the books I had brought to the desk. "Well then let's go. I was pretty much done here, anyway." I had wanted to petulantly say _Why didn't you say so?_ but thought that might have reminded him of whatever had given him his earlier tone. The big brick-man was back to a more amiable attitude, apparently not able to think past the book he found and remembering the pretty petite lady's message.

I left the books I had been studying on the little desk. I made sure to stack them as neat and square as possible, for Alistair's pleasure. No two were facing the same way, which was a little something for myself as it amused me that the placement would exasperate Alistair. I also saw the title on the book Gavin had been reading "A New Stoneskin's Guide to Polishing"

Owing in part to my lightened feeling, I pulled out my notes and led Gavin back as swiftly as I could. The other reason was to get back to a more populated area before he remembered whatever it was that caused his irritated tone. It half worked.

Upon the two of us reaching the area that led to the garden, Gavin had started grinding his gears again, "Oh yeah, you and I need to ta…" just as we met up with Wade, Tallwind, and Sol. The trio were lurking over-stuffed lounging chairs within the shadows near the French doors to the garden. Wade claimed that Tegan had required us all to meet outside, while she got the other members of our household enclave. That delayed Gavin, but he had already started rolling. So, as our quintet found a quiet place to congregate, in the shade of a birch, Gavin physically and purposefully glowered over me and metaphorically stormed ahead. "Tom, I wanna talk to you about Darkness."

"Did you find something we could use?!" I tried again for the enthusiasm dodge. The other's seemed interested and I hoped that would help my ploy.

"No." the weightlifter's voice was grave as he tried to keep his composure and was talking to me like I might be slow. "No, I didn't. It's kinda impossible to see anything in a room with no light."

"I didn't have any trouble seeing." The sickly looking Sol chimed in cheerfully, from were she sat back against the tree trunk. I was happy for the assist.

"Yes, well," Gavin turned to the pallid girl, "If you hadn't found me when you did, I'd still be stuck there."

"Come on G... Hank," I chided, "the room was barely a closet, you could have felt around for the doorknob." I looked to Sol to back me up. Even though I was certain the Gavin was a safer name to use, the man still had not claimed it for himself and it was not my lace to assign it. Plus, he was being all threaten-y, so he could just suffer whatever consequences came of bandying his name about in that place so clearly connected to the Briar.

The white on white lady in black nodded.

Wade and Tallwind were staying out of Gavin's eye line and suppressing there laughter at his expense. It was clear that the big man had gotten afraid of a dark room and that two of the frailer members of our party had not.

"Well," Gavin continued, but seemed to be loosing steam, "in pitch blackness, there wasn't a way to tell."

"I didn't know it was gonna be that dark, dude." I tried to match his sort of frat guy tone as I almost apologized—I thought it was too funny to actually be sorry. "When I was there the other day, there was a dim bulb in the ceiling." Even as I said it, I realized that was probably wrong. I glow, I did not know it then, but my mystical luminance must have been the dim light in what had to be magical darkness and the bulb I saw had probably burnt out long, long ago.

Of course, my realization was not going to change my positions with regards to the lumpy orange fellow. Once I knew that Gavin was not going to take a swing at me over the non-event, it was something too fun with which to tease him. Sol seemed to feel the same and the others enjoyed the show, until Tegan arrived with the other three in tow.

Before then I did have time to consider Sol, again. Hand-mouths and pale, pale skin. The tattoos on her back, which to my mind seemed a particularly proprietary sort of thing, like being a labeled product or branded cattle—that felt to me as if she must have needed to be controlled or dominated by her Master, more so than what happened to the rest of us. Plus, Sol had not complained, even though every time she was in daylight she clearly looked ill and weak. And now the pale woman also claimed to see in the Dark section without effort (or any form of luminescence, like I had). Plus, Sol was freely taunting one of our biggest companions. I may tease for fun or from boredom, however the black eyed lady's jibes seemed more like challenges. Sol did give me the chills and that was not solely from her melancholic nature; she had embraced an inner darkness that she tried to hold tight around our group, yet I sensed it peeking through her grasp. I definitely considered Sol dangerous… like a landmine, you can not be sure which step will set her off, but you know if you hit that trigger it will be bad.

Tegan had sashayed over with Rai, Runner, and Russel. I used to think one would need to be wearing a dress in order to sashay, but the curvaceous redhead of our party proved it was all in the hips and posture—not that I think she was conscious of her effect at the time. The new arrivals quickly recapped that they had headed back to our house to pick up weapons (crowbars, hatchets, and the like).

The gang was all there, then. At least I really felt like we were a gang then more than ever. Tegan paced before us like a drill sergeant and explained, "I came out here earlier and… well, the point is I went a short way into the Thorns." Her sparkling cerulean eyes were set with purpose and glance to the tree line to verify where she meant. "When I was there I encounter a root and through the root I heard a tree begging for help."

There were so many things that seemed dangerously wrong with that statement, my mind reeled. She went into the Maze? Where the hounds live and where we were explicitly told far worse things hunt? And what happened to researching redcaps? Did she expect that someone had left bark carvings to tell of the weaknesses of fae enemies? The tree asked… no, begged for help? Is there a more classic trap? Sound innocent and frail, then when the would-be-do-gooder offers their hand to help, clamp down hard and drag them in. And how is a plant talking to her anyway?

While I endeavored to compose my thoughts, the others where asking variants on my questions. Mostly the cream-skinned military trainee did not have answers. Tegan was simply adamant that there was a talking tree and it needed our help. The whole group did not seem as distraught as I felt they should. Nor did any of them seem to care—at all—about the redcaps any more.

On the other hand, this tree-root may merely have been the fae equivalent of a telephone line and another spirit-touched may truly need help breaking free of some snare or pit or the like. I shuddered to think that there may be a True Fae out there harrowing the pleading root-talker, I doubted I could even help to face down such a threat. However, if a lone fae could sneak a message past whatever their captivity may be, then the captor could not be particularly formidable. At least, that is what I told myself. The bottom line was that the frat-caps were a short term threat, while the Tegan's stranger was in immediate need.

So, when my eight comrades decided to trek off to size up the mystery tree's peril, I had to go along. As bad an idea as I thought it was, I was not going to let any of them die without getting the chance to say "I told you so." It is only as I look back and write this passage, that I realize that Tegan's do-what-she-wants hypnotic floral aroma probably effected all of us.

The forest became twilight dark fairly quick. Ginormous old growth trees canopied far overhead. Underbrush, of various kinds, threatened to block our way, however our guides always found a passage with minimal obstruction. I kept my faery-glow as bright as I could, to help as much as possible. The temperature never faltered from a comfortable fall mid 60s. Sounds either seemed eerily absent or creepily distorted: birds that sounded vaguely mechanical, breeze rustles that sounded like a bear crashing through, unnatural whistles and gurgles.

Tegan and Rai moved through the Thorny Briar with confidence, leading us from just at the edge of my magical luminance. The lithe lady tripped lightly and the felinoid-man prowled. Tegan looked as if she were not even aware of how gracefully she was stepping around roots, rocks, jabby branches, and thorn covered vines. As for Rai, I got my first real good look of his sinewy power that lurked below his normally placid postures. The man had had an engineers build before our change—too many hours at a drafting screen, Doritos, and video games and after our captivity his basic physique had only hinted at any alteration—until I saw him moving with purpose through the Wilder Woods. Rai had muscles that looked like coiled steel, when he was not lazing around a furniture-free house.

I experienced the most visceral and unsettling déjà vu and knew the reason right away. We had all followed these two people through a part of this dark forest before, to find our way back to Kendal a week earlier. Still no specific details came to me, just occasional flashed of Rai or Tegan in the ragged scrubs overlain on their current forms, well attired for hiking. From the looks on all of my ally's faces, they too felt the unsettling and ominous coincidence. Although, I suspect only one or two recalled as much as I, so I did not risk stirring up negative memories by mentioning our exhausting trek to freedom—there would be time for that, if we survived this new Briar adventure.

The rest of us stayed close together, me in the middle and the others ringed around to better stay within my lights roughly dozen or so foot radius. I could not help but to keep asking for reassurances that someone in our posse knew the way back. We had all seen moving bushes in Areadne's garden. So, we had no reason to believe landmarks would be reliable and my companions did not get irritated with my pestering. The huge feline and the petite feminine guide always replied that they knew the way, they were a little confused that the rest of us did not. When pressed for directions one of the leaders would say something like "Twice around then a nod." or "It's half a roll and a hop." Plus, Tegan and Rai always agreed with each other's assessment, so I tried to be reassured that either could get us back to the Mortal World, if the other suffered some horrible thorny fate.

At one point we were spotted by a flock of birds. I cannot say that I knew them, yet I just felt in my bones that I knew the situation. They would seem innocuous and indifferent, we would stop thinking of them as a threat, then wham, we would be swarmed. The sense was made worse by the avian's appearances. I know there is a type of normal-world bird that is similar—a kind of parrot, I think—colorful plumage and big beaks. Beaks shaped like shovels turned sideways, or hatchets. These hob-cousins definitively fell into the hatchet category—I swear I saw light glint of the "blades" of a few.

As we passed their roosts—dozens of them clogging the branches of a single maple-like tree—they spoke. At least, some spoke, never all at once, never in perfect unison, always like they might be talking to themselves, or echoing. "Hello, hello." They croaked as only birds can.

"Do not engage them." I told my companions. They tried asking why and other foolishness, "Just don't." I watched the ground where I walked and only tracked the birds with my peripheral vision.

"Hello?" the foul fowl tried again, feathers and leaves rustled, "Food? Food?"

"No." I spoke emphatically, matching the animal's volume. "Go away." I kept walking without looking at the birds and trying to get my cohorts to follow my lead.

The birds rustled in the branches. "Food?" Corn?"

"No." I replied.

My companions were starting to straggle, finding the verbal exchange charming.

"Corn? Corn?" the avians persisted. "Ham sandwich? Ham?"

And there it was, the moment my fellow travelers clued in. I could feel them tense up when the birds started asking for non-bird-ish things. They quickened their pace to catch up.

"Sandwich? Roast beef? Roast?" Rustle, squawk.

Our group were as far past the birds as we had been on our approach, when they had taken notice of us. I guessed that they would follow us, unless they were distracted. If it worked we would be out of their range of interest by the time they distraction was over. While I did not think they were ordinary birds, I did not imagine they were terribly bright either. At least I hoped they were not.

"Hey, over there." I looked at the flock and mimed a throw, as if I pitched something away from our direction, "cake!"

"Cake! Cake!" they chorused and about half the flock flew in the direction I had pretended to thrown. The rest did not seem interested enough to follow fake cake or real us.

By and by—which is probably an accurate direction, when walking in the Between—we came to a clearing. Tegan had said we were close and bent down to touch a root.

After a moment, the athletic lady stood and reported, "We're close. I just talked with the tree again." She wiped her lustrous hands on her skin tight jeans. "She sounds weak and said we need to hurry, he's poison."

"Who's got poison?" Wad, Russel, and Gavin asked as one.

Tegan shrugged, making the pattern on her flannel shit do interesting things, "The tree's captor, I guess."

_Better and better_, I thought.

We crept upon the scene. In a roughly circular clearing, approximately half a football field wide, stood an oak tree. The oak was at least a dozen feet wide at its base and five stories tall. It had architecture in its branches—not a tree fort, rather parts of walls and roofing intermingled with the leaves and branches. Some of the structures looked more grown than made. There was a plank ladder/walkway/stairs that spiraled up around the trunk. All the 'constructed' elements seemed a bit worn down and rickety. At waist height, there was a jagged, black metal chain. The chain was not very thick and looked to be poorly constructed, it also seemed to be biting or digging into the trunk—like the elastic of too small underwear on a person's skin.

Standing under the tree, his head almost brushing the lowest branches was—again I drew on the closest thing I recalled from my Lit class—a manticore. As I remembered them, manticore were man-headed lions with scorpion tails and bat wings. What we saw was a giant biped. He had leonine legs and head, the mouth was more manlike though, a muscular torso and arms of a man, and a scorpion-like tail as long as his arms. No wings, but he did grip a massive battle axe in one clawed hand. The weapon was almost as big as me and probably heavier. Also, I was certain it was a he, as his leather loincloth was barely adequate.

As the nine of us quietly deliberated what to do and how to do it, the form of a mostly nude woman partially emerged from the tree. The tree remained solid, yet she came forth at a run, as if she were passing through a sheet of water. She looked like she should be pretty, yet also like she had not eaten or slept in a long time. She wore twine or vines and twigs in what were meant to be strategic placements, although were not nearly enough material. Her skin was brown as the oak's bark, but ashen. As she tried to flee the tree, the chain around it caught her in the stomach. She blanched and fell back, disappearing again into the tree trunk.

That got our team moving. A tree was a hard idea to save. A woman, a spirit-touched like us, held by a crude monster, that was easy to rally around. Although, in truth, the dryad may not ever have ever been mortal for all any of my party knew. The tree lady may have been born in The Place Between Worlds, while the manticore was just as likely to be a changeling. Regardless, my fresh-from-captivity gang identified with the dryad's plight and easily saw the axe wielding bully as a surrogate Keeper figure.

It only took a minute to agree on Tegan's strategy. Our two ladies split off stealthily from the rest of us. In the gloamy dark woods Sol moved with close to the same health and sinewy grace she had displayed at the night clubs; she veritably melded into the shadows and out of sight. Tegan clearly tapped into her ROTC field training and practically spider-climbed into the trees around the clearing. The ninja women would come at the oak from angles that the manticore could not see.

The rest of the our forces would distract the conglomerated beast-man, while our femtastic duo released the chain and got the tree-girl away. I would follow behind the distraction team, applying my newly recalled faery magic. With the weird vitality I had been collecting and the evening's dreamembering to refresh my knowledge of how to turn that energy to my will, I knew also what my early ice-cream dream of luck meant. I could tweak fortune and befoul our foe's efforts, as well as aid our own.

Gavin and Wade stepped into the clearing, the rest were close behind. The manticore saw the movement, stepped into positioned to face us, grinned a gruesomely sharp-toothed grin, lazily reached out it's unencumbered hand-paw, and raked visibly filthy claws through the bark of the oak. As curls of wood fell from the tips of the manticore's black nails, we all heard a feminine groan of agony from the branches of the oak.

Then it was on.

The manticore had an army of apparently normal scorpions, ringing the ground around the oak. Somehow the manticore could communicate to them and the arachnids obeyed him, he directed them all towards us. Thus, our enemy unwittingly aided our plan by clearing the far side of the tree for Tegan and Sol. My larger comrades slowed their advance and considered the scorpions' threat potential. With my jeans tucked into my Dock Martins, I was not overly concerned about the small pinchy, stinging critters. So, I just stomped in and watched out for any scorpions that might pounce higher up my leg than ankle high. Thus, bolstered, my allies charged the axe wielding enemy-monster.

The skirmish lasted hardly anytime at all—I am not sure even a whole minute could have lapsed. Gavin and Rai had tackle-wrestled the manticore to the ground before it could react, while Wade and Tallwind ringed around with jabs from crowbar and baseball bat. I did not see where Runner or Russel were.

Meanwhile, Tegan of the Leaves had made it into the oak's branches and dropped another crowbar to spooky Sol at the tree's base. I had scoffed at the purchases of crowbars and hatchets and the like that Tallwind and the other's had made, yet they had clearly become worth the expense. Luckily, my scoffing had been internal so my grudging respect need not be public either.

Sol of the Shadows had made it to the tree's trunk, unseen by our otherwise occupied enemy, and she had used the crowbar to pop the chain. I had made my way to the stealthy blond woman by then and we conspired to take up either end of the chain and wrap the manticore in it. Touching the black-iron chain hurt, though, like a sunburn or rash. Both of our hands immediately reddened and threatened to blister, even so the discomfort was not so great that we could not soldiered on.

My and Sol's sacrifice was for naught, thou, for by the time we charged the manticore, he had gotten free of our allies and was bounding away into the thick Briar, axe in clawed-hand. The beast-thing was too fast for any of our troupe to catch, disappearing from sight and sound into the shadowy underbrush in seconds. The legions of scorpions disbursed almost as quickly, although without the unified purpose of movement that they had displayed earlier.

The pale lady and I dropped the chain, I warned the others pointing to the black metal with my right hand and showing them the palm of my left, "Hey, guys! That thing is not safe. I don't think there is permanent damage, but this is real unpleasant."

Wade barely looked at the crude chain and said, "Cold iron. Obviously bent and hammered into place by crude force with little or no heating at all."

"Definitely." Tallwind agreed, crouching over the chain with greater interest, his loose skin hanging like curtain folds, "Cold iron only occurs in the Real World."

I was surprised to hear one of my allies use the phrase, in spite of being in the Maze on the Edge. It had seemed that no amount of massing proof would get any of my fellow Kendal survivors to acknowledge the multiple worlds or our fae natures. I hoped Tallwind's choice of words indicated that the night's dreams had indeed swayed some opinions.

"It can be heated and shaped like other iron and still be considered cold iron." The burn scarred man continued.

"As long as it remains pure enough and you don't go mixing in other metals." The former fencer also stood over the snaking pile of chain, with his scar ravaged hands on his hips.

"But most people don't know that, pft," Tallwind snorted, "most everyone thinks "cold" is meant literally."

Wade nodded somberly, "Still… Beaten it into shape like this takes a lot of impressive force."

"Feh," the wrinkly fellow flicked his spindly fingers, dismissively, "it's shortsighted, is what it is. You just wind up with small, brittle, pieces. Not good for anything really useful." He pointed one needle-y digit at the black-black chain in the green-green grass. "Even this thing wouldn't hold against any serious pressure."

Wade crossed his arms and looked more dour than usual at Tallwind's dismissive tone. The taller weatherman, still nodded curt agreement, though.

"Cold iron is really quite rare, though." The squatting fellow sniffed and half shrugged, sending his curtains of skin to swaying. "It's only found in certain peat bogs and from meteorites. And the bogs are probably just ancient meteor debris."

Gavin and I helped carefully scoop the chain into Tallwind's backpack, while he lectured. As soon as the metal was declared rare, I knew we had to keep it. Besides, no matter how brittle it was, the cold-iron chain hurt to touch and that made it a potential weapon in the dangerous Briar.

Meanwhile, Tegan was in the branches of the oak tree, tending to the lady we had liberated. The dryad had appeared, as if rising on an elevator, from the thick limb on which Tegan knelt. The ashen bark-brown girl's midriff looked like it had a chemical burn, like she had been wearing a belt of bleach for a while.

Without any warning, my primly dressed and luscious ally, embraced and kissed the larger and effectively naked woman square on the mouth. Which was pretty damn hot, especially as their two different manes of hair entwined, yet it seemed odd for Tegan's generally repressed mannerisms. I wondered if the dryad had used some charm or enchantment on Tegan, based on the mythology I could remembered. I also considered that the plain dressing, ROTC chick might be gay. I hoped she was at least bi. The lovely ladies' embrace only lasted a second or two.

Then the dryad was better. Magically healed, no scar, looking vibrant and vivacious. Lush, bright foliage grew from the vines and twigs the girl wore, covering her too effectively in what amounted to a tube top and short skirt. Her skin had gone from the color of ashen bark, to a smooth, paler color of polished oak lumber, complete with wood grain. The tree lady led Tegan by the hand to ground level, additional plank-steps appearing from the tree as they descended in a spiral around the trunk. For about the kajillionth time, I reminded myself I was not dreaming. This was my new life. And with perky, nearly naked girls, it was not all terrifying.

She introduced herself, "I am known as Amaryllis," her voice was rich\, warm, resonant, and filled with excitement, like a cheerleader crossed with a torch singer, but you may call me Amy."

The nine of us introduced ourselves with the common abbreviations of our true names. In my case I still thought of Tommy as being from my pseudonym. I believed the True Names were dangerous, however since no one else seemed concerned, nor had they shared their last prophetic dreams, I was keeping mine to myself as well.

Amy stood somewhere between 5'9" and 6'0", it was hard to verify as she kept moving and usually on the balls of her feet. In spite of her wooden nature, the dryad seemed athletically muscled and built like an all around Olympian—legs for running, shoulders and arms for archery, torso for wrestling (in more ways than one), and so on. The tree spirit's hair was a luxuriant mass of maple red with vibrant patches of deep orange and golden yellow and chocolaty highlights in waves and curls that cascaded over her shoulders and back, down to the slope off of her firm posterior.

The dryad thanked us each profusely, then asked, "And you will stay won't you?!" Amy sounded excited and a little desperate.

The uncertainty I saw on my colleagues faces clearly mirrored my own. I ventured, "Um, Amy, it's nice here, but we need to be able to go places."

"Oh," Amy waved her hand as if shooing away a fly, "you can come and go. I could just be your haven." Her warm tone was positive, reinforcing the cheerleader-on-duty vibe.

"Our what?" asked Wade and Gavin together.

"Haven," the effervescent dryad annunciated, "your motley's safe place."

"Motley?" it was Tegan's turn, she had disengaged from Amy's hand hold and stepped a few paces back as soon as the tree-girl started her thank yous.

Amy rolled her eyes of pale yellow and rich red-brown lacquered wood, "Yes, you are a group together? Yet, not all of a kind and sharing skills and resources, right? Why else would you come together to aid me?"

My housemates and I glance-checked with each other and had to shrug-nod agreement.

"Then," Amy concluded, her strong hands on her shapely hips, "collectively, you are a motley."

"Uh," Runner asked in his low grumbly voice, apparently back from whatever call of nature had kept him and Russel from attacking the manticore, "What rrr about food? Irrm It's kind urf hard to errmph get to the rrr grocery storererer from hererrr."

"Yeah," I added eyeing the structures in the oak's branches, "and space? It does not look like you have enough room for all of us to stay."

Amy sighed the sigh of people talking to the dim and the leaves of her outfit rustled enticingly, "That doesn't matter, sillies. To make me your haven you will all agree on what is desired. Then we shall make it so." She smiled, like it was obvious and easy and something everyone did all the time.

I wondered if Amy was aware of the sexual innuendo she was using. Then quickly concluded the girl was too earnest to be implying what I had sort of hoped she was implying. In that light, living there would be a rent free space, food included, safe from redcaps, and walking distance to Sheaves & Leaves. Although, the tree-house was in the Briar, with manticores and who knows what else.

As we discussed the possibility and posed our questions, Amy assured us that we could improve the defenses, which in part would make it harder for beings not of our motley to find. So, the dryad definitely had some magic. Plus, Amy beseeched us with a wide soulful gaze, "If you all leave me, then that beast—or worse—is sure to claim me instead."

We had to agree. The _TWANG-hum_ of the deal being struck was the most deep I had yet experienced. My fingers and toes tingled for minutes afterward. And the feeling of security that I felt from the sensation dwarfed anything I could remember, even from my mortal childhood.

Amy quickly positioned the nine of us, evenly around her oak's wide trunk, instructing us to touch the bark with our palms. I noticed that the trunk's damaged area from the cold-iron chain had vanished, as Amy's own wounded waist had healed. Then the dryad melded into the tree as it were not even there and we were all connected on a partially mental, mostly urge/desire level.

Amaryllis's presence guided us, offering a sense of what we may do and what was not possible. Each member of our commune would have to give a part of ourselves to solidify and form the safe haven, to reshape and stock it. What we gave was clear at the time and was well worth what we would receive. I cannot describe what was given now though, I do not have the language for it. However, I do know what I gave came only in part from the same place as the _thrum-twinge_ oath-making-sensation.

As we consented and concentrated, the oak changed—It grew sturdier and healthier. More architecture appeared to ripen into being. All sense of ricketiness was lost. Windows gained shutters. The retractable spiral walkway, around the trunk, grew a guardrail. Inside there would be a personal room for each of us, as well as a common room, stocked kitchen, lavatories, and hot tub. No electricity, but Amy could regulate the temperature in any room. We all took a step back and admired our work for a moment.

I whooped and sped up the spiral walkway. I went straight to the top most room, practically a solarium. I placed little things from my pockets around the room, on the bed, the desk, in the wardrobe. I sat in the desk chair and twirled. In short order, I concluded I needed more things to fill the spaces. Which only inspired me to get them, rather than depressing me from their lack.

The mingling of minds or spirits or whatever faded swiftly from articulate memory. Trying to recall specifically what one of the others had felt or thought was like smelling a scent from childhood, familiar but impossible to name. Although, I did come away with a deeper respect for the gorgeous dryad than I had started with. Thus, I resolved to keep my base urges to myself.

If Amy ever seemed to reciprocate a more carnal feeling, then all the better for me. However, she was my new home and I would much rather earn her mutual respect.

The process had felt like a work of moments, until it ended. Then the several hours it had actually taken hit all at once. Luckily, that just meant a little hunger, as we had done nothing strenuous and only missed lunch.

The early dinner at (in?) Amy's was great: vegetarian, yet completely free of any chemicals or modifications beyond cooking. Plus, Amy really made dishes, not just salads. The tree spirit even assure us "Of course, this all I could gather on short notice. Depending on season and with enough time other fare could certainly be provided."

Sadly, most of us could not stay the night in our magic haven amid the Thorns, there were redcaps with which to deal, jobs to attend, and more research into what we had become. To the lady there was even a discussion around the table, Wade prompted it. "So, what are we? I mean, like what does it mean to be spirit-touched or changelings or whatever we are now?"

As several of us attempted to answer the grim man, it became clear that he was just then really and truly starting to accept that we had all become something other than human and trying to define what that meant for him personally, as well as us as a whole. The broad topic became morals and Wade voiced a more focused concern, "Why should we do anything about the frat-pun… redcaps? After all, they're changelings like us, right? Should we not have more loyalty to them than to the unchanged masses?"

"Plus," Runner had left the table in favor of the depths of a comfy chair, his voice even more grumbly and sleepy than usual, "we urr have rrurr Amy rrr now, urmgh so no rrerr need to rmph worrrry about ourrrr home orrm rrretribution."

The swordsman made some good points, I agreed with him about most of the bigger picture issues. "We are not normal people anymore and we have abilities that the normal worldly authorities cannot possibly patrol. However, we don't truly belong to any other world either." I scanned the faces around me for emphasis. "The existence of Ariadne's makes it clear that there is a loose collection of changelings that live in the Inbetween places, forging a world for themselves. We might be able to join them…" I shrugged. "I guess my point is, we obey the rules of wherever we are—be it mortal society or other—to the extent that we want to be part of that place or group. Otherwise, we are our own people now and have to do what we can for ourselves."

"As for the more specific redcap issue," my voice hardened as I clenched my fists, "I paid for the use of that rental house and I am not going to let them bully me away."

Gavin felt more of a sense of civic duty, saying, "Plus, if the normal police can't deal with them it is even more our responsibility to help the innocent people of the neighborhood. I don't care if they are fae or not, they don't deserve to be terrorized by the redcaps."

"It's just not right," Tegan agreed with Gavin, a fighting spark lighting her emerald eyes "that they get away with hurting anyone or destroying property."

Neither Wade, nor I, bothered pointing out all the minor laws we had all bent or broken over the last week. It was clear Tegan and Gavin believed the redcaps transgressions were of a higher order of magnitude. I think Tallwind just liked the idea of doing some damage. The others did not say much, but it was clear they would go along with whatever the majority decided.

So, we made a plan and seven of us departed the oak. Russel and Runner stayed behind, partially because they did not care much about the redcaps, but mostly because Amy panicked at the idea that she would be alone.

Once Tegan and Rai had led us back to Ariadne's, we split up for final preparations. I visited the Shui's liqueur store to try and get more information, as well as build some more goodwill. Mrs. Shui was on register duty and I gave her a simple gold necklace that I had purchased back when my crew was till squatting in a foreclosed home; I tried hard to not think of it as a collar. The ancient lady was in deed more cordial than before and she did offer some answers regarding redcaps, however, they only corroborated what we had learned at Sheaves & Leaves.

Redcaps are violent and cannibalistic. They tend to cluster in gangs, but will turn on their own at signs of weakness. Each redcap keeps their hat wet with fresh blood, always. They drink a lot of alcohol. They are generally ogres in the way that a Lumor is a type of fairest—all ogres have a brutality and toughness to their natures. There are some speculations that redcaps are weakened by the loss, or drying, of their hat.

After that I returned to the faery bookstore and did some preliminary research on a few of the other topics that I wanted clarified. I took a much more methodical approach than before. Resisting the urge to start reading on any one subject, I instead spent a couple of hours perusing sections and making note of potentially useful titles and their locations. So, I did not learn anything new or more specific, however I would be much more ready when next I ready turned.

That evening, Tegan and Wade chose to stay at the rental house as guards. In case the 'caps hit our place before heading to theirs. Which left creepy Sol, rocky Gavin, predatory Rai, scarred Tallwind and my luminous self to go to the frat-caps house and wait in ambush.

We had figured that the redcaps would be least prepared when they returned from drinking and were not quite out of their car. Instead, while the rest of us found nearby concealment from which to spring, Tallwind went into the 'cap's house. The wrinkled man limped out fifteen or twenty minutes later, just as the house's kitchen started to glow orange and billow smoke.

The four of us that definitely did not start the fire, sprang into action and ran around doing what we could to keep the flames from spreading to neighboring homes. Including waking the neighbors, telling them to call 9-1-1, and using their hoses to dampen the area. Tallwind, meanwhile, made some show of doing the same, yet his burn-scar stiffened leg seemed to act up more than usual and his limp really slowed him down.

It was oddly thrilling: the fire was attractive and alarming as any bonfire, yet forbidden in it's arsonous nature, satisfying for it's destruction of enemy property, and frightening for it's potential to spread. Plus, it sent the sickly enticing smell of cooking meat wafting through the whole area. I was most concerned with getting the redcaps out of my group's hair, although I did like the idea of helping the neighborhood in general, so letting the fire run unchecked was not cool, hence the effort to limit the blaze. All five of us left the scene when the fire-trucks arrived—no need to risk being identified or questioned.

Our own fireman had been furious the whole time. If I could have harvested the anger from another spirit-touched, I might never have lacked for that weird magic-powering vitality again. Gavin held Tallwind responsible for endangering the whole block. Wrinkle-man chose not to return to any of our regular haunts for a while. The rest of us felt—or hoped—that this might get the 'caps to leave the area, or come after us more directly. At least, direct would be easier to fight. Some of us only regretted that none of the redcaps seemed to have been at home.

We still slept in shifts that night, just in case.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

Puffy fluffy wuffy,

Easy breezy wheezy,

Hazy fazy way…

Day 9: Wednesday, November 16th

It had been another decent dream-free sleep, in spite of the minor disruptions caused by people getting up or down for frat-cap patrol. No incidents occurred and breakfast was only mildly distasteful steel-cut oatmeal with nuts and brown sugar.

I continued to be pleased with myself for having invested in the air-mattress, pillows, and pajamas, in addition to the sleeping bags for which all the rest of my group had settled. Even without vivid nightmarish dreams, each of my housemates tended to spend a fair amount of every morning complaining about and working through muscle kinks. Which in part led to me deflating and packing my bed and bedding into my Festiva's hatch on a daily basis. I just could not trust any of my often addle minded allies to not simply decide it was okay to use my stuff, if I was not around. Pooling resources was one thing, letting them use my property merely because they could not be bothered to make another trip to Wal-Mart was something else.

Plus, I was pretty sure that the sound of the mattress's motorized air compressor irritated my housemates, the noise exacerbated by the empty-echoey nature of our place. So, I would not put it past one or two of my companions to disable my bed, if they had free access.

Although, the most important reason to pack up every day was for get-away purposes. if I had to flee town for some reason, it would likely be at a moments notice and via my Festiva—if I had any choice. So, having as many of my worldly possessions on board as possible, was just sensible.

As I loaded up my car that morning, however, I contemplated that Amy and her oak tree were now part of my life (or I her's, or both) and I wondered how that would effect my general preparedness. I was confident in what my troupe had invested into making our haven reliably defensible. So, I probably had a secure place to leave my things, including a private room. On the other hand, the oak was in the Briar and getting to and from it may be problematic (I made a note to look into whether cars would function in the Edge Maze). Also, there was no place to plug in my air-compressor. Plus, my solarium room was fully furnished.

Meanwhile, my inflatable bed and 2" TV/radio were the only things resembling furniture in our rental home. I would have bought more, except that in the one year that I had spent in the dorms, I had learned quick that other people will use whatever is around, yet only care about how they treat the items that they owned.

As it was, I did not care about the TV/radio, so I was happy to return it to the living room, rather than bother with packing in my Festiva each day. For my generosity, one or the other of my commune would always have some damn noise pouring out of the devise. Personally, I never received any useful information from the local news, talk radio, or commercials-and I have already mentioned my frustration with the music stations, barely playing two songs before dumping to ten or more minutes of ads.

So, when I realized that I had no pressing short term goal to try and achieve and that Rai had left his tools in the now empty garage, spent some relaxing alone time quietly fiddling with my little black Festiva. I checked under the hood to see if there were any minor tweaks I could perform, with the tools at my disposal. Of course, my once upon a time friend, Jack Schmidt, had indeed sold me a quality used car, so there really was not anything to tweak. The garage held bucket, sponges, and rags as well, though, so I did give the vehicle a thorough cleaning inside and out.

At one point after full daylight, Gavin had walked over to the scene of the previous night's arson (his word) and reported back to whoever he could find. "The house is totaled," the man's coarse cheeks and forehead were more red than orange and almost seemed to have a faint glow like a lit charcoal briquette. "It only looks a little charred from outside, but I could tell it was a shell." His teeth ground with the sound of gravel on gravel. "The tree out front had caught and a fair portion of the lawn too."

Only a few of us had been caught and wrangled into the living room to listen the ex-firefighter's rant. Runner and Russel were presumably still with Amy. Sol was sleeping in the closet (for maximum darkness) of the room she shared with Tegan. The probable firebug ,Tallwind, had still had not yet returned to risk facing Gavin's wrath. So, Wade, Tegan, and I were left to listened to stony man's rumblings.

Rai was also there, sitting with his broad back wedged into a corner, mighty arms crossed over his chest, and long legs crossed at the ankle straight before him. Rai's chartreuse cat-eyes were half open, although his pointy ears hardly moved. So, I was not convinced that the stolid man was actually awake. Also, Rai made no response or contribution to the conversation, so even if awake, I do not believe he was listening.

"If we hadn't hosed down the neighboring houses, they would definitely have gone up." The rocky weightlifter was seething some more as he stood with his brick-fists on his denim clad hips, blocking the little entry way alcove for our front door.

"I talked to some neighborhood kids." Gavin moved one hand long enough to give a visual height estimation. "They said the jerks who lived at the house showed up about ten minutes after the fire trucks. Apparently, they poured out of their crappy Chevy and started attacking people—at least two firemen and a neighbor lady were hurt. The kids thought that one of the jerks was subdued, but the rest scattered and got away."

That ked to a fairly dull conversation. Dull largely because there was not anything else any of us could think of that we were particularly interested in doing. It sounded like the frat-caps had scattered and we were not going to try and hunt them down. I was shocked that the 'caps had gone so manic in public, but hoped their madness would carry them far far away. Generally the four of us just agreed that the police would have to take some more serious action, especially with two firemen having been battered. Hopefully, the mortal authorities would be enough to drive the redcaps away from Athens entirely. Personally, I doubted we had seen the last of the bloody bullyboys, however I guessed that as long as we watched our backs, we would be able to handle the demoralized jerks.

By around 9:30 am, I had effectively detailed my Festiva, and grown fed up with both Wade's news radio listening and Gavin's continued griping about Tallwind's reckless irresponsibility. So, I spent most of the grey drizzly day at Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves. I knew there was little else that I could learn regarding the redcaps, so I embraced the opportunity to corroborate and expand on the knowledge that I had gained from my dreams—filling in more of my mental puzzle, as it were.

Entering the bookstore from the chill morning dampness was like getting a warm hug, because of the temperature defense as well as the soothing muted sounds and smells of old books and fresh pastries. As I past the front desk, Philomena smiled, also warmly, "Good morning, Tommy."

"And the same to you," I smiled back and bowed my head in greeting, 'fair Philomena" I passed straight on, over eager to start reading. By the time I had walked the three steps into the tea room, I regretted having not grasped that opportunity to chat with the pretty blond lady. I shook off the personal disappointment with a promise to myself to linger at Philomena's desk when next I was passing.

If I could not be bothered to dally with the charmingly bespectacled receptionist, I certainly have no recollection of what few patrons were enjoying tea at the various little tables. Although, I did note that the only sign of Rosa was noises of baking sheets being moved about out of sight in the kitchen.

In the members only stacks, I quickly found a side room that I had scouted the day before and was pleased to find it empty of other members. Like most every other part of the magically expansive rare books collection this room's walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves full of books of all sizes. The rare value of the space was that in the middle no additional shelves had been added, rather a plane wooden table, large enough for four to six people, stood with several chairs. The table was by no means clear of books, yet there was still room for more. Plus, as far as I could determine, the tomes that I did shift to one end of the surface had all been closed, so I did note fret over having lost any absent reader's place.

I set my backpack and coat on a chair, grabbed out my notebook, and went about finding illuminating works. My primary interest at that time was to locate information regarding faery magics, particularly how they related to my ability to thresh and winnow anger and what side effects were there of which to be weary. However, as I have mentioned already, Ariadne's collection has an unusual organization and the documents themselves were rarely, if ever, intended as reference materials. Plus, in a collection of that size every topic seemed to be covered prolifically, in addition being sprinkled throughout the endless texts. Thus, of the several hours hunting for specific information, most of my time was spent selecting books, scanning them briefly, rejecting them for lack of related content, and repeating the process.

On the other hand I did find several interesting tidbits that were unrelated to my intended search, yet provided a new puzzle piece or possible connection for my future endeavors. Obviously, I made notes of book titles and page numbers, as well as section in which they were found, including descriptions of the documents and the shelves on which they were found. I hoped to return the following day and just pick a few of these less goal oriented tomes and just read them for the pleasure of it.

Needless to say, I am presenting my relevant findings here in a condensed and more coherent manner than I originally collected them. At least, I shall do my best to improve the coherency.

Magic—as with every single other thing I looked into—went by many names. Broadly speaking who could use the magic determined what sort of magical effects resulted. For example, I saw references to demonic and mortal, invocations and spells, respectively, as well as a couple other terms. Luckily (or, inevitably considering my sources) I found a fair amount of literature on fae and their glamours and oaths.

What I gathered from that all too brief research session, was that when a creature of faery casts, makes, or channels magic it is referred to as a glamour, enchantment, charm, ritual or rite. Enchantments tend to effect objects or locations, like enchanted swords, or glens. Charms tend to effect people, although they may be placed on a thing or place to better effect the person, which implies that Dorian Grey's portrait was charmed—assuming it was faery magic. All enchantments and charms are still glamours and-as far as I could tell—anything that did not fit the description of enchantment or charm was simply a glamour. Referring to glamour also implies conscious and willful intentions for a desired outcome. The result is never actually guarantied, however the spirit-touched is still generally considered in control. Plus, of the few glamours that I read about, or recalled, the magic was rarely ever flashy or overt, like in movies or whatever.

Ritual and rite—pertaining to fae, mortal magic seems to have a different definition—seemed to be synonymous and referred to a more potent glamours that could be cast by a group. Although, rituals also seemed to be intertwined with the magic of oaths as well. Which is a shades-of-grey distinction… no, more accurately a colors-of –the-rainbow distinction. Since everything I found was interwoven with everything else, how much a glamour mixed with an oath mixed with a rite mixed with a secret mixed with a whatever else, was like determining when the red of a rainbow becomes orange becomes yellow, and so on. There might be purely glamour glamours, however they would be hard to find.

Secrets and tricks were also integral aspects of glamour magic. Where mortals may have to go through elaborate training, set up intricate diagrams, intone difficult syllable sequences, and/or contort into odd positions in order to cast their spells, fae just tap into the unreal and make it so. To do this spirit-touched have learned the secrets of the glamour, usually via some bargain or oath. Another key element is powering the glamour, which is one use of wyrd (which I shall explain shortly). However, within the secrets of most glamours, there is a trick—a sort of catch or loophole, if you will—to power the glamour by some other manner.

I did not discover any new secrets to the workings of glamours that I did not already know. The information I found was often extremely poetical, thus leaving much open to interpretation, or exceptionally dry and almost mathematical, thus begging for clarification and examples.

However, as I sat and read, the secrets and tricks of my own glamours came more clearly to my mind. My Master, mischievous-malicious Aeolian, had given me the secrets of glamours to cause false or favored fortune as I willed; He took especial delight in knowing that these were some of the few glamours with no tricks to avoiding making them work. If I cast the fate altering glamours, then I would have to expend wyrd. Thus becoming more dependent on my Keeper while in His realm, for He controlled the distribution of wyrd. On the other hand, my as I vowed to the principles/manifestation of Summer-Fire, that being-concept shared secrets to a glamour that would keep me at a comfortable summer temperature regardless of my surroundings and another that would borrow a field full of noonday's sunlight for a time. More to the point, I also recalled their tricks, spitting out an ember and the time just around midnight, respectively. Faery magic is fickle and never promised to be useful or convenient. Aeolian beam-bright and hard as a rock-candy mountain also revealed unto me a glamour that I may charm and barring for a time, though this to has no loophole I could find. I believe I unwittingly used this personal enhancement when I negotiated my employment with Manager Dave.

My Keeper also infused me with the glamour that is my perpetual radiance. Although the "red" this faery glow was heavily blended into the "purple" of my life force, thus the glamour requires only me to live for it's power source and I cannot turn it off without dying. Plus, there is a deeper secret to my luminance, if I choose to channel wyrd into the glow, it will intensify to an almost blinding degree.

So, what is wyrd? Well, I had paused for lunch and had the opportunity to discuss that with Rosa. The tea room was exceptionally slow for some reason on that day, at that time, only one man with luminous color-shifting hair and dressed in an expensively tailored-suit sat in a far corner reading and sipping tea. So, when I started to chat with the chef/server, as I ordered the lunch special, she indicated that I should sit at the nearest table and she would deliver my meal. Then the tiny Hispanic lady sat with me and poured us both china-cups of tea from a matching teapot.

After some pleasant generalities, I had made some comment about going to winnow, and the genial woman giggled, then corrected me as she stirred honey into her tea. "Be careful sweets, around here people can get pretty preachy about word usage. You go out foraging for sources. You winnow a suitable source."

I nodded understanding. "So, anyway," I waved my free hand toward the member's door with it's red velvet harrier, "I have been trying hard to get up to speed as it were. Am I correct, that wyrd is what we turn people's emotions into?

Rosa smiled with full (albeit blue and white) lips and amused swarthy eyes, "_Wyrd._" She emphasized the pronunciation to sound like hybrid of "wired" and "weird", as apposed to what I had said which sounded more like "word". I nodded my understanding as I chewed and Rosa continued. "Yes, that is correct, strong emotions offer access to the stuff of _wyrd_," she exaggerated the word again with a more teasing smile, "in waking mortals."

Half an answer and at least two more questions, talking to the barely five-foot tall lady was almost exactly like reading one of the rare book. I swallowed and sipped some tea before posing my follow up, "You make it sound like it's not the emotions themselves that we convert to this wyrd." I purposely pronounced it correctly and without particular emphasis, as if I had always said wyrd like that.

"That is also correct.' Rosa tried to leave it there, however she succumbed to my wide-eyed pleading gaze. The lady rolled her cinnamon colored eyes. "Oh, all right. Emotions are just a way to bring their desires and fantasies to the surface." She sipped her tea and made a dismissive half shrug/head tilt. "Pure dreams are better, of course, but then you have to be sleeping right up against them or deal with trekking through Dreamland. Mind you the former can be fun for other reasons, if you can swing it."

"I read something about the Land of Dreams the other day." I chose to ignore the implied question about my sexual productivity and follow the other conversational thread. "But it sounded like the Briar, or a place in the Briar. And you're saying it is really a way into real people's real dreams?"

Rosa rocked back laughing and had to place a hand on my arm to steady herself. "Honey, you talk so serious, I forget how fresh off the vine you really are." She wiped joyous tears from her eyes with the index fingers of her caramel-y skinned hands. "Dreamland is as much its own place as the Shifty Brambles. They might just overlap a bit more with each other than with the Mortal world." She nodded towards the main entrance, her tiny horns remained fixed in place regardless of her expressive brow, however her toque (chef's hat, I looked it up) wobbled with the gesture.

"So… wait a second…" I furrowed my own brow, trying to grasp what Rosa had said and she smiled at my efforts, before I gathered my thoughts enough to ask, "So, your saying we could go into the Briar, then physically walk to the Dreamlands, then find ourselves in a real person's dreams?"

As I spoke a couple of human-looking signage girls had entered the tea room, they were decked out in many layers of black with an abundance of dark make-up and silver-ish jewelry. Rosa stood and tussled my hair, 'You're doing fine, sweet-pea. Just remember that no matter how hard you try to think your way through a journey, it won't get you to your destination."

Rosa went to wait on the mortal girls and I knew our conversation was done, probably for a while. As I finished my delicious ham-salad sandwich, the small dining area started to get busy. I might have considered people (and non-people) watching, however Rosa's comments and my food had only fueled my fires to get back to the rare books.

Thus, I learned that what I had been calling weird vitality was more accurately called wyrd. Added to my book studies, I concluded that wyrd is a sort of energy supply, almost like a rechargeable battery. Changelings are able to convert the dreams of mortals into wyrd and store it or use it to enact glamours. Only, I also found implications that wyrd was more connected to a fae's mental health and that too much or too little over time could cause serious problems. Precisely, what, why, and how spirit-touched manipulated wyrd seemed to be so ingrained, so taken for granted, that none of the authors I found even seemed to contemplate such questions.

As a side note, I did find a very long winded dissertation style paper that seemed dedicated to proving that the common use of "weird" in English was derived from wyrd, for some grand esoteric goal. Even had I not been skimming, I doubt I would have grasped the argument—mostly do to the basic logical fallacies it seemed to be built upon. Still I thought is was interesting in light of Rosa's warning about Sheaves & Leaves members being grammar snobs.

Looking into wyrd, led me to Gyr, or The Gyr as it is often referred. The Gyr is an all pervasive thing that some spirit-touched—and, apparently, most of the Folk—treat with a sort of religious reverence or attitude. This faith based approach seems to be from where wiccans and similar derived many of their concepts of Gaea the Earth Mother Goddess, through interactions with ancient fae. As far as I could tell, most modern day spirit-touched viewed the Gyr more of a natural occurrence. I felt especially lucky to have found Benjamin Cyclone's book _The Scientific Proofs of Gyr_, early in my fae inquisitive stages. Ultimately, _The Scientific Proofs of Gyr_, was an in-depth rhetorical argument that claimed that Gyr was a real ubiquitous force throughout all known worlds, rather than a god or in any way sentient or caring. I understand that Mr. C's work, no matter how well reasoned, may still be wrong, even so it resonated with how I preferred to think and its principles have held up in practice.

So, Gyr is entwined with everything on a metaphysical, psychic, and physical level. The Gyr is what allows glamour and other fae phenomenon to twist the Mortal World's laws of physics, including making agreements more physically manifest.

As I understood it, the gist was that Gyr bound all things and provided the principles for reality altering magic to function. Glamours reshaped the world for as long and to the extent that the unquantifiable dictates of the Gyr allowed. Wyrd, In addition to its other aspects, was a sort of lesser linking method to Gyr. The example that I liked was that Gyr was most similar to how electromagnetism is everywhere in the Mortal World, binds atoms together, and defines radiation of all sorts, including radio waves and visible light. So, many different things that do not look related on first glance. Then, wyrd would be akin to using a refrigerator magnet or turning on a radio, both result in more tangible and localized effects, yet are also dependent on the more universal power.

As for agreements—oaths, promises, vows, bargains, deals of all kinds really—due to the intricate-intimate nature of fae creatures, we are more bound to our words and intensions than mortals and the Gyr makes it so. It was speculated that excessive wyrd and glamour use had drawn fae closer to the Gyr, or that an ancient pact had been struck with The Gyr—similar to the pact that caused the Mortal World to Masque spirit-touched. Whatever the case, fae feel their promises—as I had already worked out—and the force that underlies and can warp known reality enforces the deals.

Again, how exactly the Gyr function was not any clearer than that in what I had found. Although, I did find many references to oathbreakers being punished in a variety of way, from universal shunning to prolong misfortunes to death and many others in between. I was heartened to see that punishment severity did tend to be scaled to fit a given vow's importance—as related to the individuals involved in the agreement. The one story that ended in an oathbreaker's death was very clear that the oathbreaker had agreed to foolish terms for a bargain and had he worded his promise less dramatically, then he probably would have lived—albeit unhappily for he was an oathbreaker.

There were apparently many levels of oath from simple "I'll catch you" in a tryst-fall exercise for work related team building, to "I will protect you at all times, from any dangers". Also oaths ranged from spur of the moment informal to intricately worded and litigiously crafted. The more grand and intricate an oath the greater oomph fulfilling or breaking it provides from the Gyr. I imagined that I might look into specifics at some later date, however all signs indicated that to do so I would have to be prepared to take on the Law section of Ariadne's collection. Law was the largest section I had encountered to date and the few books I had looked at required a translator, in spite of being in English.

Which is another point, that I neglected earlier when describing research in the rare books. Easily half of the collection was in languages other than English and of the English works, many were in Middle, Old, or even Archaic dialects. And all of these were mixed in with each other and modern English texts. As a fan of research and literature, I loved the availability, even though it did slow my progress that much more.

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time I realized my head was too full of undigested new thoughts to continue further that day. Even so, I was quite pleased. Much of my big mental-picture puzzle had filled in nicely. There were still he gaps, of course, however I felt like I had identified at least three corners and most of the edge pieces. So, I stacked my books neatly on the table, gathered my belongings, and headed into the garden for a breath of fresh air, before I returned to the Mundane World.

In the Briar bordered garden, the sky was grey, yet free of the precipitation that vexed the world outside Sheaves & Leaves main entrance. The autumnal aromas of burning leaves and eminent rain showers wafted along a mild breeze. The air itself was just cool enough to consider wearing my jacket.

Instead I reached into the pocket of my mind where I kept the correct secret and the other place that felt of wyrd, then I cast the glamour that I called Summer's Embrace on myself. I immediately felt as if I were standing in the middle of a seventy-eight degree summer's afternoon. The breeze and smells and the like all remained the same, I was just far more comfortable. Although, I had felt the wyrd leaving me and afterwards I could detect the slight reduction in my sense of what wyrd I had stored. If I had concentrated on expending more wyrd into the magic I could have extended the effect to cover as much area as my faery light, yet saw no value in such expense at that time. Still and all, I reveled in being able to cast the glamour, as much as the successful learning experience.

My luck continued to hold and one of the few small, square stone-tables was unoccupied. I folded my coat and used it as a cushion on the squad granite pillar that served as a stool.

My research regarding deals and oaths had caused me to consider my limited interactions with the few more experienced spirit-touched that I had encountered. I had, clumsily, worked out the exchange of gifts for information with the Shui family and Peter Dionysus had effectively guided me through an exchange of money for knowledge. I was extra pleased that I had not given the faun my blood, now that I had read more about the pitfalls of similar deals. However, I felt that I had fallen short in my conversations with Rosa. The friendly chef had answered all of my questions, as circumstances allowed, while I had sidestepped her allusions to wanting to know more about me personally—very personally as it were, hence my nervousness.

Even though there had been no formal agreement that Rosa would explain things to me in exchange for something else, I still felt like a heel. I wondered if it was The Gyr making me feel that way for a little while, then decided that it did not matter. If nothing else offering some small reciprocity to the tattooed woman should help to encourage her to continue to want help me. Plus, I saw an opportunity to test another theory.

The mystical-mythical, fairy tale, qualities of most of what I had been reading had inspired me. I laid out my notebook and composed a poem. In stories a song, ode, kiss, or the like were often as valued as blood or labor, so I would see if my poetry was received as suitable tender for Rosa's answers already freely given.

"Hello, Tommy, back again I see."

I looked up into the jovial goateed face of Dr. Dionysus. The faun had stood smile, dressed much as he had been the last tine I had seen him, although most of his attire was different enough to indicate that he simply had a preferred look. The most significant difference was that instead of a walking stick, Dionysus leaned lightly on a folded green umbrella.

"Oh, hello, Doctor D." I straightened my posture to be more conversational. "Are you just coming in or leaving for the day?"

"Just came for teaching." The man made a _blech_-how-boring face that came off slightly demonic because of his horns and hourglass pupils.

I smile and gestured to one of the other stool-pillars. "Would you care to sit and chat a while." I had just finished my _Ode to a Lovely Sandwich_. "I was in my way out shortly, but would enjoy the chance to talk to someone more inclined to education than my housemates seem to be."

Beyond a similarly brief and disparaging comment about undergraduate student, Peter did not show any interest in discussing his day or his work. However, the furry-legged faun was happy to join me for a time. I mentioned broadly what I had been doing and that led to a discussion of favorite books. The good doctor also appreciated B. Cyclone's treatise as well as lots of mortal biographies. The two of us overlapped with mild interests mysteries, though he did tend to favor procedurals more than me.

I do not recall what prompted it, however our conversation found its way to the subject of Grace. "No, no, some changeling are errant…" Dionysus saw my quizzical look "That is they have allied with no particular humor. Which means, of course, that they are far more hard pressed to make more common alliances with other of our kind. Frankly, I don't see any benefit to such a choice at all," he shrugged with palms up and out to his sides, "but some people just won't look after their own best interests."

My browse were still fairly nit as I bit my lower lip and tried to parse out some of my companion's meanings. "Um, Doc, I need to back up a bit. I'm not sure what you mean by 'humor'?"

"Really?" Yellow-ish eyes made circles briefly behind the half moon spectacles.

I made an exaggerated shrug and pursed mu lips out duckbill-like. "I'm still trying to learn this new lingo. Rosa says that I'm fresh off the vine."

"Ah," the professorial man nodded sagely as he drew out the sound, "of course, of course, that make sense." He paused and ordered his thoughts.

"You," Dionysus passed his hand up and down in a slow wave to indicate my appearance, "are clearly of a choleric humor, for example. Your rich suntan, the fiery-blond streaks in your hair, and probably your golden crystalline eyes all present a physical manifestation of your humor—also commonly called Grave, Season, or Element."

"Ah," even though I mimicked my companions tone and nod, I did honest have understanding, "Okay, so the symbols that I was given to mark my deal, or allegiance, or whatever with Fire-Summer."

"Well, yes, in part." The faun scratched his ear as he tried to find some more clarifying words. "Even if you had no outward indicators, you would still be more bound than most to Fire, as that relationship is also about your inner self. How you think, the things you like, how you react to danger or weakness, it's all informed by your loyalty to the ideals of that humor."

"So, did Summer-Fire pick me? Or dud I call It?" I asked automatically.

The faun shrugged. "That may be impossible to answer, if you don't have a clear memory of it yourself."

"Sure, okay, I get that." I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand and composed my next question. "So, like do all choleric types band together out in the Mortal World? Will they all have tans and so on, so I can tell?"

"Sort of." Dionysus's smile reminded me of Rosa's, like he was looking at a child that just learned how play a game more complex than tic-tac-toe. "Everyone's visible Grace is unique to them, however it is fairly easy to tell who has allied with whom. And the more committed, or devout, an individual is to their particular humor, the easier it is to tell." He opened his palm towards me. "For example you are noticeably summery. Your hair or eyes alone might be mistaken for a sanguine or melancholic disposition, respectively. However, even then speaking with you for even a few minutes reveals your choloricly tenacious and driven nature. On the other hand," Dr. D actually raised his other palm off to the side, "I once met a mighty choleric warrior, whose every battle played out as animated tattoos all over his body." He turned his palm to himself. "While I have… well what is your guess?"

I studied the goat-ish fellow hard for a good thirty seconds and thought I saw all kinds of little tells, before he smiled sympathetically. "Relax, Tommy, just try not to focus so hard."

I was not sure I could do that, however I could focus elsewhere. As soon as my vision of Dr. Dionysus blurred a little I felt the double breeze, one from the air in general with no discernable temperature through my Summer's Embrace, and the other warm and moist distinctly yet gently rolling off of the faun. When I looked back I also noticed consciously for the first time that the man's finger nails and teeth were tinted ever so slightly green. I thought he could be a member of Fire-Summer's armies, only then the breeze would be warm. Plus the man was just so casual about everything.

"You're favored by Spring." I snapped my fingers and pointed. "That's… that's sanguine, right?" Dionysus nodded happily and I added. "And you not quite as connect as I am to Summer-Fire."

Peter rolled his goat-eyes and sighed. "Everything is _not_ a competition, no matter what your Season tells you. But, yes, that is all true." He stretched his shoulders and loosened his neck a little. "as for your other question, changelings tend to find safety, support, and solace in the company of each other. However, do to our general reticence to trust and an understandable aversion to promising alliance with securing the same first, it is hard to find a group of others to truly feel safe and supported around." He laced his fingers and cracked them as high over his head as he could reach. "However, people of shared humors tend to find it easier to overcome those reluctances. When I am with other sanguine individuals I feel more confident about how they will act. I may not tryst them per se, yet I can better estimate how they would be inclined to deceive me. If you see what I mean."

I did understand Dr. D. I also cottoned onto the fact that he had just come from work and wanted to relax, not conduct a one-on-one lecture with me. I did a quick once over of our conversation, decided I had told Dionysus a couple of person facts and that should balance out what information he had provided me. I still had questions, however they could wait.

"Well, Doc," I started to pack my things into my backpack and rise, "like I said, I was mostly on my way out. So, I really appreciate you expanding my vocabulary, though. And I'll be sure to check out those books."

The faun and I shook hands—his grip was firm, yet surprisingly soft skin. Then I headed to the rental house. I did drop off my poem with Rosa along the way.

Rosa's smile shifted from normal happy to see people buying her food, to slightly more pleasant recognition as I made it to the front of the line. "Back again so soon, sweet-pea? What can I get you this time?"

"Oh, nothing for me." I smiled back. "I'm heading back into the world for the day. I just wanted to give you this." I handed over the folded piece of notebook paper. "As a little token of appreciation for spending time to help me understand some things."

Rosa's eyes popped wide causing her horns to be engulfed in a brow of wrinkles. The Chef took the paper methodically and read it skeptically at first, then grinned with all her teeth that sparkled like sugar cubes. "That's delightful, honey… here you just await a second."

Before I knew it I was walking out with one of the largest cream and but filled pastries I had ever seen. I had tried to protest no need as my poem was meant to cover what I had already received, unmoved the girl with the diamond tattoos insisted I had overpaid and the dessert was my due change. So, I chalked my poetry experiment up as a major success.

I was back at the rental ranch house by four o'clock, or thereabout, my scrumptious pastry had not survived my attentions during the trip. Tegan came up the drive as I was closing the garage door, the light rain had caused her auburn hair to darken to a slick burgundy, clinging to and tracing inviting lines along her forehead, cheeks, and long slender neck. Thankfully Tegan wore her somewhat boxy jacket, because if I had seen any more of her wet, I may have embarrassed and hurt myself against my own pants.

The bedraggled beauty had me collect together whoever else was in the house, while she wet into the bathroom to dry off. It was easier than herding cats, marginally, with the added pleasure of me having to tell each of them (some times more than once, "I don't know what she wants. We just happened to get back at the same time. I don't know where she's been."

By the time Tegan joined us, freshly dried, I had assembled Gavin, Runner, Wade, Rai, and Sol in the otherwise empty living room. Our curvaceous colleague had put on new equally tight jeans, wore her green and brown flannel untucked (yet still fully buttoned), bare delicate-feet, and her freshly blow-dried tresses poofed out in a wild and artistic mane. With her always perfect fae-cosmetics, the woman looked like a movie star that had just gotten out of bed in a romantic comedy.

Tegan wasted no time with preamble, "I went to O'Bleness Memorial and snuck into where the firemen and neighbor lady are being kept." Some of my allies stared blankly, so she clarified. "The people that the kids told Hank the redcaps had attacked." The general nodded convinced the lady that we were all on the same page, she nodded once herself and continued. "I had to pretend to be a candy-striper to get past the guards. The police have all three victims in one room and a patrolman stationed at the door."

"Didn't he check your credentials?" Wade asked with his strained raspy voice. We had all taken positions sitting around the perimeter of the room's floor with our backs to the wall. The haggard and wiry man was directly across from Tegan.

The corners of Tegan's crimson cupie mouth quirked up slightly and she shook her head, churning the currently wild red-waves of her hair. "After I stood close to him for a second, I did not even need a volunteer's uniform."

Sadly, it took most of my comrades more than a moment to realize that Tegan had been referring to her newly identified fae ability to effectively mesmerize anyone near her. I admit at that moment I could not recall if the ROTC trained bombshell had reported the discover one or two days earlier—as my sense of time still had not quite recovered from being taken to another world and changed into a spirit-touched—however, I still had the basic sense to remember my allies' major magical-power revelations.

"Anyway," Tegan rolled her viridescent-jeweled eyes and went on, "the victims were in critical condition, all three of them. So, since no one was watching, I used my Breath of Vitality gift to help them, like I did with Amy."

I did not bother to sidetrack the conversation by pedantically pointing out that what Tegan called a gift was her casting a glamour on the people. I could share my research later, assuming their own dreams had not already provided the knowledge.

A rich pick blush filled Tegan's freckled cheeks, then the whole of her heart shaped face, then poured down her alabaster neck and shoulders, as Gavin, Wade, and I all made various noises and comments referring to Tegan having to make out with all the patients, as she had with the weakened dryad. Of them all, my comments at least where meant appreciatively. Runner and Sol only smiled and chuckled. Rai seemed distracted by the rain on the window.

"Nooo," Tegan insisted trying to quell our catcalls, "it was not like that. If fact that is part of why I tried it anyway, I wanted to see if… contact was necessary." She continued speaking quickly to curtail a new round of jeering. "As it turns out, I only have to breathe on the people. So, no contact required, just a couple of inches proximity."

"And then they were healed?" Wade wiped his mirth-filled steel-grey eyes with his hatch-work hands and asked seriously. "How did the hospital staff respond?'

Tegan shrugged. "I did not hang around to see the staff's reaction. But the victims were not all better. They did seem to improve, like their bodies were under less stress, but their wounds remained… I think there's more to my gift that I have not sussed out, yet… maybe Amy had some magic or something that boosted my gift with her…"

I got distracted at that point... or more accurately, I had bit my check and whatever else I could think of to distract myself after Tegan's last shrug. Which made it obvious that the normally strictly garbed lady had purchased at least two pairs of jeans and shirts, yet had no spare bra after changing from the rain.

I vaguely recall Sol suggesting with a pale smirk that "Maybe physical contact was needed for more effective healing." Which led to more teasing—of which I did not participate.

As for Tegan's own assessment of needing more practice with casting glamours. I could only offer a silent amen and hope the my other housemates started to feel the same way.

Tallwind returned after our larger collective had disbursed to various corners of the house, or their own minds, and just as dinner preparations had begun. An argument ensued right away, primarily between Gavin and the loosed-skinned limping man. I was working in the kitchen, so only caught the gist of what was said. The discussion never got too heated and mostly centered around the morality issues we had already talked about and with which many of us were still trying to cope.

The aggression was prolonged by the earthenware bodybuilder insisting that Tallwind admit to having endangered the neighborhood and promise to not start fires again. I suspect that as a former firefighter, Gavin still empathized with the danger the crew last night had to face. Tallwind, in turn, steadfastly refused to be responsible for the fire "and no one got hurt anyway". Eventually the big orange blocky fellow came to his senses just enough to storm off into the wet suburban night.

The gruff spoken burnt man was then able to explain. "I went in and the place was filthy: garbage, old liquor and beer bottles, and half eaten meat everywhere." He raised his right hand, stick-fingers pointing up like a row of bamboo. "Some of that meat looked like it had never been warmer than body temperature. The fridge was packed full of meat, only meat," he lowered his hand, "and I won't swear that there was no people parts in there." The saggy-skinned man stood near the kitchen door and spoke up so everyone could hear.

"In every bedroom, there was one or two beds, each bed had a bucket next to it. At first I hoped the buckets where full of red paint, but it was blood—bright and fresh. A couple of the pales had ball-caps soaking in them." Tallwind took a deep drink of his bottled water.

I suspected it would be a while before the scar covered ex-PI drank red wine again.

"I felt I should do something, you know to maybe slow the redcaps down or weaken them. So, I took the buckets and dumped them in their kitchen sink." Tallwind's face wrinkled up, even more, in disgust at the memory. "As the blood poured out, it coagulated and darkened—like it had been around for days. Then I left." There was a pause that said, _that's my story and I am sticking to it_. "Maybe whatever negative juju was in that blood started the fire. But I can't be expected to have known."

Once dinner—sloppy-joes, oven fries, and mixed-greens salad—was ready, Sol ate quickly and sped out the door, saying, "I'll be at the hospital for a while."

Gavin returned a short while later, promoting Tallwind to also quickly finished his own meal and then retire to the room he shared with Runner and Rai. Meanwhile, our stony companion silently prepared his own plate of food. Since it was clear the two grown men were going to (thankfully) try just avoiding each other for a while, I helped by reminding the brick-ish fellow "So, you looking forward to our first official night working at Elements?"

I was doubly pleased. Firstly, Gavin honestly seemed to have remembered and was looking forward to it. Secondly, none of the rest of the household chose to join us for the car ride. I got the feeling that now that Elements represented employment for a couple of us the rest of the troupe considered it blasé. I just liked not having to feel like I should be watching out for anyone else while I was working.

According to my fellow drink-jockey, Justin, and the two waitresses, Emily and Sarah, that Wednesday's crowd was both larger than usual and better tippers. As an additional bonus for me personally, a couple of drunken jock dudes got a some rage fight over a sports statistic. Before Gavin could push past the gawkers and expel the two louts, I had been able to winnow a satisfying amount of wyrd from the altercation—like drinking in the beer that had fueled their idiocy in the first place.

Plus, now that I knew to concentrate past the flavor-scent-sensation of the anger, I was pretty sure that I tuned into a little of the mutual fantasies of clobbering the other man and impressing the girls all around. As far as I could tell the young ladies pretty much universally thought the two thuggish boys were far more pitiable than impressive. More importantly, I gained some greater insight to the process of foraging for wyrd that I find difficult to describe adequately. Suffice to say that Rosa's cryptically phrased comment made more sense to me, although I believe "learning through reading is not always as useful as learning through doing" sums it up more succinctly.

Otherwise, the night passed smoothly, I collected my pay, then collected Gavin, and drove us both back to the rental house

The rain had finally stopped while I was at Elements. The cloud cover remained thick, though, so the night felt darker than usual. As lo the November temperatures had decided to return, at least, while the sun was away. Although, I did not care, for I had snagged a couple of packs of the club's matches (another hipster affectation that Dave claimed the owners thought of as hilarious) and used one to pull the trick on my Summer's Embrace glamour. So, I remained a comfortable seventy-something degrees, even with my breath puffing out in visible clouds.

As we parked, I felt like there was something odd about our shared home. However, before I could mention my trepidation to Gavin, who was starting to close the garage door, Tegan entered the little parking structure looking serious.

"It's the redcaps," I predicted morbidly with a knot forming in my gut, "they came back."

Tegan, blinked slightly pink rimmed emeralds at me, hid a yawn with one delicate hand and rubbed her eyes with the other. "What?... Oh, uh, no. No sign of the 'caps."

I had mistaken grim seriousness for bored sleepiness, probably due in no small part to my own fatigue. The ravishing redhead was at her most no-nonsense, suited up for hiking in the cold—jeans tucked into boots, jacket zipped all the way, silky hair in two tight bud-like buns to the rear of her head. Tegan turned her next yawn into a huffed out overly-exaggerated exasperated breath, "Jeez, it's about time you two got back." She shouldered past me and Gavin, grabbing at our jacket sleeves. "Come on Tommy, you need to drive us to Sheave & leaves."

I almost dropped my rolled up air mattress in the jostling. "What? Why? are they even open?" I did start putting my gear back in my Festiva's hatch, though.

"There's something we want to do back at the oak tree and we need everybody to be present. All the others are already there. " Was effectively all that Tegan would say. When Gavin or I pressed for more information during the car ride, the petite lady countered with something like, "It's not bad, so don't worry." Or more often "I can't explain it well, Amy will do it better in the morning."

Our rocky companion seemed to enjoy anticipating the surprise, so did not press very hard for information. I could tell Tegan was tired, dealing with a magical concept that was hard to articulate. So, I stopped pushing too, besides I was just as tired.

In fact I may been even more tired than the lithe lady. I was certainly so exhausted by the time that I pulled into Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, I do not really remember parking. Then Tegan was had been moving so much faster than my fatigued legs wanted to go, that I did not have the time to register much about the spirit-touched bookstore after dark. I know that the three of us used a side door to enter and the interior was much more shadowy. Then, the next thing I remember, Tegan was tromping us through the garden and then into the pitch darkness of the Tangled Briar.

At least the thick old foliage would have been as dark as dark could be, if not for my fae luminance. Even so, beyond maybe five paces from me, the world become a sheet of solid black, from which gnarled trees and spiny shrubs—in shades of moonlight greys—seem to form as we plodded on. My faery glow did not cast the full spectrum light of the sun.

In my sleep deprived state, I had to focus so hard on not loosing our shapely guide, I did not even have the wherewithal to fret about the increased dangers that must be in the mystical forest by night. Tegan led with a silent single mindedness that added to the eeriness of the Briar at night. I learned later that the pretty redhead had been under the effects of a glamour that she knew which allowed her to travel more directly through the twisty-shifty Torn Maze.

I was endlessly relieved when we came upon Amaryllis's clearing and equally grateful that we would be able to sleep within our haven, before dealing with whatever my fellow collective members had decided was so important that Tegan had needed to drag us through the night Briar. I do not even recall climbing the plank-stairs to my room, although I have a vague sense that my newest dryad-ally had helped guide and support me along the way.


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

Zzzzzzzzz…

Day 10: Thursday, November 17th

My bed at the oak was perfect. I could not imagine having a nightmare in it: even though the mattress seemed thin, it was both supportive and cushiony, suspended by a lattice of ropes and stuffed with downy feathers.

The sunrise poured in and washed the ceiling and far wall in warm rainbows. After the barren rooms of the communal rental house, my little solarium was especially soothing to see, even with such sparse furnishings—the bed, desk, desk chair, and wardrobe that the pretty dryad had provided. Of course, I longed to fill the wardrobe, desk, and walls with items personal to me, as soon as I own some of such items once more.

I had barely opened my eyes and started ruminating, when a well toned wooden woman's arms emerged from my primitive-style dark-wooden headboard, pressing gently and firmly down to shake me by my shoulders. Amy's elegant oval face followed her hands a moment later, effectively hovering over my own face, upside down to my perspective. The tree-spirit said, "Get up, get up, get up!" with the joyful exuberance of a child on Christmas morning.

The athletic dryad's long red and gold cascade of hair tumbled in a curly curtain around my ears and over my collar bone. I had been effectively engulfed in a cloud of rich aroma—sweet earth and fresh leaves with just the most delicate hints of aged, lightly spiced lumber. The flame colored tresses blocked out most of the light, so I could not make out Amy's smooth and strong features, however the locks were silky soft on my skin. I regretted that my pajama top prevent the perfumed strands from caressing more of my flesh.

Seeing I was indeed awake, the dryad stopped shaking and said, still breathless with excitement, "Everyone else is waiting. You need to get fed and get started."

I tried to ask for a more detailed explanation, however the attractive lady just melted back into my headboard—her mane sweeping my face from chin to crown, rustling like leaves, as she went. A moment later Amaryllis's torso appeared from the wall next to my bed looking much like a living masthead from an old sailing ship. The dryad's corset of leaves and vines appeared flimsy and to defy certain physical laws—it seemed to be mostly backless… unless it was glued, or taped, to her ample bosom, but then where would she get such products? Plus, how could the garment possibly provide enough support to create such compressed and ample cleavage?

"They will tell you while you eat," Amy's smooth resonant voice, like a clarinet mixed with a violin, yanked me back from my reveries. The supply woman clapped her hands, sounding of small wooden cups being brought together. "Come on, the sooner you start, the sooner you will finish."

I made verbal assurances of "okay" and "alright" as I attempted to make placating gestures and climb out of bed at the same time. Once the perky tree-girl saw I was properly out of bed and had started to collect my clothes together, she faded—literally—back into the woodwork.

I was eager to avail myself of the tree-house's shower. Especially, because plumbing several stories into a tree, with no visible pipes exterior pipes, defied probability. However, Amy was probably in control of the water pressure and temperature. So, I chose to forgo any further enthusiastic encouragements to join the other's and merely used the toilet, then the sink to wash my hands and face. At least I could also wear a laundered pair of jeans, rust-colored polo shirt, and undergarments to feel less grimy.

Vegan breakfast turned out to be great. The ingredients all tasted right and Amy's cooking is top notch. I did not consider shifting to the animal product free diet, yet the occasional well made meal was refreshing.

Amidst the other breakfast chatter, I did get a chance to place a request, with Amy, for eggs at least three times per week. the dryad had told us when we first claimed her as our haven that most any food stuff could be obtain with enough proper notice. Even so, the wild-haired woman's response was odd.

"Eggs? Ummm…" Amy bit the right side of her full lower-lip and looked off into an unfocused distance, curling and uncurling a lock of her long crimson-gold tresses around a couple of wood-grained fingers, "Yes, well, sure I suppose I could get eggs." She refocused on me. "Enough to have a meal?" She sounded like that was a lot.

"Well, uh, yeah." I said with uncertainty. "I know it may take a day or two, but you said to just ask for what we wanted… And I figure eggs are pretty common, right?"

The dryad just nodded, again focused off in deep thought, then melded into the kitchen wall.

I could not guess why the eggs seemed like a complex logistics problem for Amy. I made a mental note to try and discuss it with her later, as the group had a more pressing matter. As proven by, Gavin and I having been barraged with the news of our groups purpose for being gathered together so urgently. Thus, preventing proper enjoyment of the my salad and oatmeal—each with mixed nuts and dried berries.

There was a lot of "Amy mentioned we could…", "So I was thinking…", "I sort of remembered from when we joined with the haven…", "Then I said…", "I said we should ask Amy…" and so on, mostly excited and all tumbling over each other as one person would think they had my attention, another speaker Gavin's, and another both of us. Plus, of course the inevitable unnecessary corrections ("No, that was Kyle, not Leroy", sort of things) and the repetition as no-one seemed to be listening to anyone else very much.

The gist was that the group had figured out that we could still improve on our haven's amenities. Further enhancements just required all contributing members to participate. The situation reminded me of one of the major social downfalls to working night shifts, most everyone else is working days and getting together to make plans or have fun while you are toiling away.

In this case Gavin and my two votes would not have affected the majority decision, had we been around for the decision making instead of making money. On the other hand had I been consulted I may have been able to sway some opinions. This time, at least, I did not take too much umbrage at the exclusion as both the fireman-turned-bouncer and I supported the planned modifications anyway.

As far as I could tell, otter-esque Runner's heightened nervousness and prompted and fueled the rest of the communes justifiable paranoia and the first decision was to increase the oak's fortifications. Again Amy had claimed that such measures would both make forced entry more difficult for now members, as well as magically obscure our haven from anyone trying to locate in (or any of us within it). Apparently, home-security led to conversations about safe-rooms and back door ways to bolt away—it seemed like Tallwind had focused a lot of attention that way. Which Amy explain something like, "I'm sure you all have enough combined will to open another egress good enough for sneak aways."

So, we set to "work". The process being basically the same as when we claimed Amaryllis's Oak as our haven; the nine of us ringed the tree's trunk, touched it with our bare hands, and focused on our agreed upon intent. During the claiming, a couple of days earlier, we had given some part of ourselves and Amy directed that gift to shape the rooms, protections, and other amenities of the haven. Now, again, we each gave some little indescribable part of ourselves, it was definitely not wyrd-wyrd is an converted and held from an external source. Also, what we contributed was not our own emotions or dreams. The closest I can come to an explanation is that we each gave some of our personal unrealized potential.

Later, I wondered if perhaps that it was a part of my shadow that the fetch-creatures ate from mortals. If so, then I felt confident what I provided would replenish within in. Also, I was heartened to think that I still shared something with my once mortal self, beyond an illusory Masque.

The first remodeling our troupe enacted was the security. As Amy worked as conduit and translator for the group member's various ways of thinking and desires, she directed the power of our wills. The only physically visual result was a slightly spikier, more gothic appearance to the architectural aspects of the tree-house and a sturdy latched gate at the foot of the plank stairs that spiraled up the trunk. However, there had been an underlying sense of greater fortitude on a metaphysical level—it was clearer to me while I had been connected to Amy.

I should mention as a side note that, when I say "tree-house" I do not mean a single structure. For the most part each room nestled independently within the oak's mighty branches, connected via rope bridges, ladders and occasional planks that all seemed to have somehow grown naturally from the tree. Also, I should have said that the new spikiness was really a more thorn covered appearance, although some of those thorns were as long as my open hand..

The second upgrade had been the more complicated one. It took one full day, nonstop. No sleep. Amy's feminine form brought us food, doing her ship's masthead impression in front of each of us in turn, and hand feeding us. Our magical connection to the dryad also allowed her to keep us all awake the whole time, in essence she did not let us realize we were tired as she trickled a little of the oak's own stalwart energy into us. Relieving ourselves had been the only time we were permitted to leave the circle of the trunk. Even then we still had to keep at least one hand on the tree, or a wall, at all times. Not impossible, yet trickier than it sounds.

In the end though, the payoff for the inconveniences turned out to be spectacular… We had opened a door.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

Day 11: Friday, November 18th

All nine… well ten of us, counting Amaryllis, were tired, yet not as much as I had expected to be—more like we had just done a solid workout, rather than like we had stayed up for more than twenty-four hours.

The door had been put in place, or built, or grown, or whatever the correct adjective was for making a magic door. Amy kept calling it a portal, which may be more technically correct, however it looks like any other door masterfully carved from one solid sheet of oak and complete with ceramic knob—no visible hinges though. We had chosen to erect (I guess) the door-portal inside the oak tree (that is also Amaryllis), in what I tend to think of as the basement, the relatively simple-looking door had become a new feature on the western side of the circular room. According to the perky dryad, technically the chamber was at ground level and in her trunk. Yet, then technically, Amy had also insisted that her trunk is solid through, regardless of having a room within it. I consider this impossible space the basement, simply because we had not originally had any doorways from the Briar clearing outside directly into the chamber; thus requiring us to go down from the entry level to reach it.

There is also what I call the sub-basement for creepy dark-ophile Sol's room, although Amt calls that her roots. I, on the other hand, do sometimes think of my room as the attic. All of the others just occupy various loosely defined floors.

From within the tree our new door-portal looks like very mundane, until you realized that no corresponding door appeared on the exterior of the tree's trunk. The other side of the portal is where the spectacular part I mentioned earlier really happened. The other side was Las Vegas, Nevada.

In our ritual, faery ringed around the oak, Amy had revealed the magic to us. At the time magically linked as we were, it had been very clear not only that a door from within the Tangled Between could be made to pass through to anywhere else we desired, yet also I understood precisely how we accomplished it. Afterward, with my brain alone to rely on it was boggled.

As we sat willing the magic to be, we had mind-to-mind discussion. I hesitate to say it had been telepathy, because it felt different than I always imagined telepathy would be. Regardless the pieces of conversation that I present here do not do justice to the depth of imagery and feelings that had been conveyed, often in lieu of words.

Anyway, we had to agree as a group to where our portal would open. Amy's only limitations was, "If at least one of you is not very, very familiar with the destination, then The Gyr will choose a rooting point as close as your minds can provide."

Several options were bandied about: London, New York, Miami, the remote wilds of Colorado, anywhere in California, Hawaii, and others. The one thing we all considered a default necessity was that wherever the portal led, English needed to be the primary language of the local populous. Some of my party were more inexplicably prideful of that caveat than others. On the other hand (or branch, in this case), we all varying levels of anxiety over picking the best, safest, and most beneficial destination. My own speculation about what sort of spirit-touched communities we might find, only added to general nervousness.

Apparently, about half of my comrades had somehow imagined that Athens Ohio was the be all and end all of changeling life. Perhaps they thought it was the only path from the Briar back into the real world was in Athens, or that once back in the mortal world all spirit-touched flocked to Athens, like sparrows to Capistrano. Whatever the case, when the logic of other fae communities was presented, my allies did acknowledge as likely and started to worry about threats. I wanted to believe all fugitives from Keeper custody would be as helpful and sympathetic as had been the members of Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, however my own paranoia made me agree that proceeding with maximum caution was wise.

Amy eventually assured us, with the mental/emotional equivalent of an exasperated sigh, "Additional portals may be opened later, as your desires dictate… With effort the destination of the passage you open now may even be moved."

"Effort?" Tallwind was first to present the question that we all had. "What kind of effort?" his mental/emotional voice was as marred and excessive as his physical appearance.

The statuesque tree-spirit considered her answer, then created the impression of a shrug of her well defined shoulders—the oak's leaves rustled. "Time mostly. Creating a portal will always take enough time for the sun to return to where it was whenever the process started. Also, as much of yourselves as a little more than you have already freely given. The calibrations get a little more intensive with each additional portal."

Again, I must stress, that those are more my interpretation, than actual words that Amy spoke. I believe the dryad knows the word "calculations", I just doubt she would ever actually use it.

"While," Amy's lesson went on, "moving a portal once established requires two days to safely dissolve the connection, then another day to recreate it to a new destination. However, the initial energies employed will simply be recycled."

So, our group returned to debating our choices with a little more interest in making a decision. For this first attempt at a magical portal we quickly agreed that we wanted more civilization than Athens offered us. We also wanted someplace touristy enough that we could blend in easily, yet with inexpensive options for food and the like, for those of our company that had settled for only the most menial employment—If any at all. That left us with Miami, New York, or Vegas. We dropped London, because none of us were confident that the city was anything like our media based imaginations made it seem, therefore we were not sure that The Big Smoke truly fit our criteria. None of us loved the Miami option, the awful humidity was enough of a deterrent for most of us. Rai had been the only advocate (for lack of a better word) for New York. Even directly linked to the massive cat-man, he was still profoundly incommunicative. And although for Rai the conversation represented more contribution than almost any other dialog, his reasons were still not much more than "I think it should be New York".

So, after a some preparations (showers, clean clothes, and the like), eight of us passed through the door-portal; over two-thousand miles in a single step.

I was not even sure Amy could leave her tree and Rai had opted to pout about not getting his way about New York. The pointy-eared man would not express why he was so against Las Vegas and several of my companions did ask several times—even after we had all returned to solely inhabiting our own minds and bodies. Privately, I suspected that Rai had family in The Big Apple, or at least had visited that city enough to know its pitfalls, as well as fearing a city that he did not know, like Las Vegas.

As it was, none of our collective was particularly familiar with Sin City-a fact that actually helped to make the location seem more fair. Although, that also meant that we had to rely on the magic of the haven and the Gyr to place the far side of our door somewhere safe. So, we all sort of expected to have to find a more suitable location and familiarize ourselves with it enough to relocate the portal's destination. Even though, none of us cherished the idea of spending the three days it would require to do so.

Our octet passed through the opening in rapid succession. The other side was located out of doors in the niche of an overhang at the base of a towering red-tinted butte. Desert scrub and other buttes spread out before us. The air temperature had not changed much, however the moisture quality had noticeably vanished. The clear sky seemed to dwarf the expansive landscape and still had a thick wall of dark blue receding to the west as the yellow-white sun cresting the eastern horizon chased away the night.

As soon as we were through, Tegan, Wade, and Tallwind said, "Red Rock Canyon," almost in unison. I recognized the landscape too, from a million car commercials; I just had not know its name. Although, I was less inclined to concern myself with that kind of identification, having just effectively teleported across a goodly portion of the continent! I wondered briefly if I should re-read C. S. Lewis writing, as he must have had some insight into this aspect of spirit-touched existence.

In retrospect, I recognize that we were all coping with the impossible travel in our own ways. The gruff private detective Tallwind, often rigid ROTC cadet Tegan, and stern faced fencing instructor Wade tried to cling to familiar things and place themselves mentally in space. Runner of hairy limbs and long whiskers moved in short quick bursts from nearby rock to nearby scrub brush and so forth, touching or sniffing each briefly before moving on to the next. Sallow Sol clung to the shadows of the bluff and looked around in wonder. Russel the mooch just tagged along near Tallwind and acted like nothing unusual was going on. Gravelly Gavin and my illuminated self focused on each other and our companions, I can not say if it was for the same reason, though, for my part I worried that I would be reeling if I thought too long or hard about what we had accomplished.

On the other hand, I was becoming quite adept at letting astonishing magical phenomena wash over me, so that I might be able to continue forward, rather than become engrossed in each new impossible moment.

The sun was just rising in the desert, so most of the landscape was in shadow with a clear, almost turquoise, sky above. Even though it was technically three hours earlier, than in Athens, the temperature was what we had been experiencing in mid afternoon Ohio. Although, the temperature was also not far off from the Hedge around Amy's oak tree—as mortal Athens was clearly edging into winter, Briar adjacent Athens clung firmly to high autumn.

Each of our party took five or ten minutes to adjust to the new environment, removing jackets, loosening collars, making certain we could get back in and out of the portal we had made, and so forth.

From this side, our 'niche-portal was partially obscured by an eight-foot boulder. When any of us touched specific ridges on the boulder in a particular sequence, the huge rock would swing open or shut, as if hinged in place. The combination of ridge touches had been imparted to each of us when that aspect of the portal had been tied into the defenses of our haven. After each of us successfully practiced opening and closing the boulder-door, we also did our best to memorize the area so that we could be sure to find the place again, then, still noting as many landmarks as possible, we headed away from the magic doorway.

Even though the early morning of November in Las Vegas was similarly chilly to where we had left, we all knew that would not last. Our most outdoorsy members, Tegan, Runner, and Tallwind, estimated high seventies or low eighties by midday and were not sure how long we would be outside and on foot. Sol had brought a large black-umbrella to use as a parasol, she still looked waxy and ill when out in daylight, however the portable shade-maker seemed to at least comfort her and keep her spirits up.

I had intentionally left my coat in the oak tree, so I pulled out one of the Elements book of matches, lit one, focused on Summer's Embrace glamour, and spit the flame out. It took several matches and a couple of spits before I got the flame and aim right. I expected my aim would improved, however I made a note to replace the flimsy cardboard matches with wooden ones as soon as possible. Even so, I was once again enrobed in the perfect upper-seventies temperature and had not expended any wyrd on the faery magic.

I was glad that others in my party were intent on leading our hike. I spent my time partially trying to memorize my way back to our special boulder-niche. Tallwind, Runner, and Gavin did the same, only out loud, pointing out landmarks as we went to help the rest of us. The rest of my attention was for the overwhelming scenery, TV and movies do not do Red Rock Canyon justice. The size and shape of rock formations and plants were enough to make me feel I was on an alien planet, the vibrant colors (slightly different than the soil and vegetation in Ohio) only exaggerated the effect—not to mention, the lack, or sign, of other people. Plus, there was a pretty good chance I had seen one or two science-fiction features that had been filmed in that State Park.

It turned out that our two most scar covered companions, Wade and Tallwind, had visited Red Rock in their unchanged lives, so they had a rough idea of how to find the man-made road (I-250) through this national wilderness preserve. The completely unblemished Tegan had the same pre-change experience, plus wilderness training and a preternatural sense of the easiest direction from our portal. It was only unfortunate that none of the three of them had visited recently enough to have had a familiar location to which we might have affixed our portal.

Our green-eyed guide did have a glamour that helped her find her way through the Maze of the Edge. However, other than knowing which way to strike out from the magic portal, Tegan seemed to rely on her mundane skills to help lead us. Thus, I believe the Nevada side of our door-portal-niche was not in fact within the Briar. For all the clarity and understanding that I had while in the ritual to make the portal, once complete, I retained very little.

As we rubbernecked our way along, perhaps half an hour away from our starting point, Gavin spotted another fae and pointed it out to the rest of us. About fifteen or sixteen yards away a lemur in a vest, leaning against a cactus and drinking front a tiny canteen. Our troupe each nodded or waved at the bulbuls-eyed simian as we passed, it tipped the top of its canteen to its brow in a sort of salute. A few minutes later Runner indicated two men, cherry-red from head to toe and leaning on black tridents, stood some distance up a bluff, just close enough to make out those detail. The devilish-looking duo seemed to only take passing note of us, they gave no response of any kind to Gavin's enthusiastic smile and wave.

We came upon the paved interstate in short order, thereafter. Then it was only a five or ten minute walk to the visitors' center, where we were able to catch a bus into the city. I honestly credit luck more than any of our guides for turning the correct way for the visitor's center.

As we waited for the next bus, I pointed out to my cohorts, "At $14.95, plus tax, per one way bus trip, getting to and from Vegas looks like it might get pretty expensive pretty quick."

That sparked another conversation that reinforced our mutual desires to each try and find a nice out of the way place in Sin City proper to which we could move our magical portal. The cost of three full days, seemed much cheaper than the bus fare and hiking.

Our gang of eight took up most of the air-conditioned bus. My climate nullifying glamour had worn off as we entered the visitor's area of the park and I had decided to experience the temperatures as they were, until they became unpleasant, rather than fuss with the cheep matches and spitting at my hand. There were a couple of unchanged normal mortal people in the front and another changeling chap that had sat nearer to my group in the rear.

The spirit-touched stranger had deep-blue skin and a bright white smile that showed elongated canines. He wore a panama hat, sunglasses on a cord, a camera around his neck, cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a Hawaiian shirt. I do not recall the fellow's name, if ever he shared it. Yet, the blue chap was friendly and helpful, as well as surprised that our octet were all together.

I was reminded of the equally cobalt-colored forward man from in the Law section of Sheaves & Leaves, that I had encountered briefly when I had been seeking materials on redcaps. At least this blue fellow did not seem nearly as posed, proper, and predatory. Although, I did privately question the man's taste when he started flirting with Sol, when Tegan was just as close.

"Have you some venture here?" the man asked politely, around sharp fangs and in an accent that seemed European mixed with something more exotic.

"We're just visiting." Wade took the lead for us, "We had an opportunity open up, so we took it."

The rest of us smiled and nodded confirmation. I was especially pleased that my weather-worn companion had the wherewithal to keep our gang's personal business vague.

"Ah, yes, it is lovely in this territory." Blue suggested, glancing out the window over Wade's sturdy shoulder.

"Is this _your_ first visit?" Wade asked.

"No," the sharp white smile replied in cheerful rolling tones, "I try to come by every so often."

"Is there anything that you would recommend that we should do or see," our spokes swordsman's lowered his voice briefly, "or avoid or watch out for?" his voice returned to normal, "while we're here?"

Blue considered a moment. "Well, that depends on your interests. If you are mainly interested in the rush of human emotion, the casinos are all quite good. Of course, you should take care to be respectful at Mandalay Bay. If you are more inclined to something more dangerous," he purred the word, "there are a few places to go; the drains, for example."

"_Oh_, really?" Sol asked, excited and flirty, she leaned over the back of the seat next to Blue to join the conversation. The pale woman's manner and appearance had risen fast once we were within the cooled bus with thoroughly tinted windows.

"Certainly," the dark-blue fellow continued to purr as he flirted back. "It would be my pleasure to show you sometime."

"Uh," Tegan cut in. I could not tell of she was jealous, or just trying to stay on topic. "Why's Mandalay Bay special? Is there a group of…" she paused clearly trying to think of a euphemism for changelings.

Blue got the idea and seemed surprised at our naïveté. He remained friendly and cheerful though. In a lowered voice, "The Golden Duchy is there, yes."

Sol had slid slinkily into the seat next to the blue tourist and had a few low murmured private words. The rest of us rode the rest of the way in contemplation. I felt bad that we could not ask the friendly cobalt tourist more directly about what the Golden Duchy was. Clearly a group of other spirit-touched had banded together, but how many? And was the title of duchy significant? Did they conduct themselves in some sort of medieval manner in which being polite might have different parameters than our 21st century sensibilities? I also mused over some of the stories and journals that I had read recently at Sheaves & Leaves, feudal terms and titles had cropped up fairly often in those varied passages. I had assumed all of those parts of my research were just old enough to be from periods where Kings, seneschals, knights, duchies, courts, and the like had been common. In light of Blue's revelation about the Golden Duchy, I tried recall if there had been any indicators that my research had actually been of more modern pieces. I also tried to imagine what it might all mean for our trip into the City of Sin.

Seven of us disembarked at the Venetian Casino and went in. Wan, yet flirtatious, Sol had chosen to ride a ways further with the nice bluish man. The Casino entryway had been pumped full of artificial floral scented perfume, most of us gagged reflexively,. However, lovely Tegan collapsed as we passed through the secondary doors and past the noxious mist. I wondered if something about the auburn-haired lady's own (and far more pleasant) faery fragrance had reacted negatively with the man-made chemicals. Whatever the case, Tegan soldiered up in short order, even though she continued to move a bit unsteadily the short time that we remained inside that marble-encrusted building.

Several of my party spotted—and mentioned to the rest of us—a handful of what, we assumed, were other spirit-touched take note of Tegan's near collapse. The strangers all seemed to be employed by the Venetian in various ways—a pale-haunted store clerk, a gaunt living-statue in the wide hall, another dark-eyed pale-skinned individual as a gondolier. The looks from those non-mortal employees also seemed hard and menacing, even more so than Sol's all black eye could at times.

In truth, I felt a little bad for Sol having chosen not to stay and explore the Venetian, so many of the staff appeared to be cut from the same pallid eerie attractiveness as was she. I also marveled a little at the artificial canal that seemed to run the length of the exceptionally large interior of the structure. I did not have time enough to consider more.

My companions had been muttering to each other and me. Gavin was speaking, while rolling his marble-eyes from side to side, looking for danger, "… the way Gerri reacted."

I had to shift my mindset, yet again, as my colleagues continued to use each others True Names.

"Yeah," The fair-skinned woman agreed with a careful nod, "it was weird. And I don't much care for this place. I hope all the casinos aren't like this."

"Nah," Tallwind almost sneered, "they couldn't be."

"How about this," I chimed in to try and get going, "we all have our phones right?" After general nods and affirmations, I added. "Then lets split up into smaller groups and check out as many casinos as possible?" I shrugged. "I think everything will be fine, buy I figure we should use the buddy system for at least our first trip here."

We spent about five minutes to let everyone mentally catch up; assert they did not like how sick Tegan, how the Venetian changeling's did not look inviting, and agree that sticking together in small groups was a good idea. Then it was just a matter of roughly assigning what part of the Strip on which teams would concentrate. Lastly we verified our phones worked, that everybody had each others numbers, regular check in times, and (finally) a couple of meeting places for meals. All of us except for puffy-headed Russel, of course, as he no-one had bought him a phone—he did pair up with Tallwind, though. Then it was out past the vile perfume barrier and into the brushing press of the over-crowded foot traffic along Las Vegas Blvd.

The group as a whole had agreed that we mostly wanted to split up to get the quickest possible lay of the land. Personally, I wanted to sense of what the local spirit-touched presence and attitudes were, especially to strangers such as myself. I chose to assume that my comrades felt the same way. I did not ask any of them for dread that they would not have any concern of the unknown fae, or worse, that they would need the concern explained to them. Besides, whether my companions agreed or not, we were still all going to split up and find out something.

I had not been exactly surprised when our blue-tourist had indicated that spirit-touched had formed a community in Las Vegas, however the term duchy did give me some pause. Plus, everyone in my party had felt that the Venetian counted as a big unwelcome sign. So, that is mostly why I wanted to know sooner, rather than later, if all the casinos shared the attitude. Also, I was enthralled at the possibilities being a changeling in Vegas had to offer, especially one that knew the glamours that I knew, and I wanted to test some theories.

Sol's pointy toothed date had certainly turned out to be speaking the truth regarding foraging for wyrd. In every casino it took hardly any time to find some mortal indulging in rage fantasies brought on from there failed fool-proof system, or their spouse's failed fool-proof system, or that their fiancée had cheated with a hooker, or whatever it happened to be. Later, my allies would claim as much success finding their preferred emotions and, amusingly, for many of the same reasons. I believe that is also when I finally got around to mentioning that it was not specifically the emotions that we craved.

If anything I had to make much more conscious effort to not winnow in too much wyrd too fast. At least I had been able regulate the intake with continued expenditures of wyrd, replacing my Summer's Embrace as it wore off at irregular intervals. If my research was to be believed, the Gyr follows its own chaotic rules and applies the same to governing glamours' potencies and durations.

It had been Gavin that had attached himself as my exceptionally solid shadow. As usual the rough-cut orange fellow was more talkative than I was particularly interested in, however he did not seem to mind (notice?) that I simply went about my business and barely responded to him. So, I enjoyed not feeling restricted by my allies preferences, while also gaining the benefits of having such a large well built man aiding in plowing a path through the ubiquitous throngs.

The rock-like bodybuilder and I wandered through over half a dozen casinos that day and at each location I saw at least a few other spirit-touched—at couple places there had been dozens. And that only accounted for the easily identified changelings—half animal, flaming hair, scales, or some unnatural color. There were probably plenty more like Tegan or myself who looked pretty normal from a distance (if the auburn-haired bombshell's devastating looks may be called normal). The two large quantities places were The Mirage, where the fae seemed to make up a significant portion of the work force, and the Bellagio, where there seemed to be a spirit-touched bachelor party enjoying the gambling. Most of the time though, the other spirit-touched were alone in a casino and working as dealers, waitrons, or entertainers. However, there had been often, at least, one or two changeling that seemed to be as much a tourist as me or the blue bus passenger.

On the other hand, I think I saw less than five other fae in all of the times Gavin and I had to venture outside to reach another gambling resort. Of course, even with Gavin's aid, it was hard to see much while pressing through the teeming masses. Outside, the spirit-touched I did see, looked like my cohort and me, their heads down defensively, trying to get the hell out of the relentless crowd.

I often caught a look or two from one of the unknown changelings when indoors. My impression of the onlookers, generally, was one of curiosity, rather than the disdainful hostility I had felt at the Venetian. So, I was heartened that Sin City might not be as unwelcoming as that first casino-resort had implied. Plus, when I eventually regrouped with my other haven-mates for lunch, they all reported similar observations.

It had been Tallwind that observed, "Well seven of us did show up outa nowhere. I bet any changelings at any of the casinos would have been worried we were a gang bent on mischief."

I had not had the opportunity to mention the fae bachelor party, nor would I after that comment. The wrinkled old sour-puss's knee-jerk cynicism had become tiresome and it amused me to know that he was wrong.

"Or," our prestine-complextioned lady suggested, "we just looked like a bunch of embarrassing rubes. Either way, I think traveling in a large pack is what got us the negative glance."

"I buy that," I half shrugged, trying to steer Tegan right, without exactly cluing Tallwind in, "but it's still possible the folks at the Venetian are just jerks."

So, we split up again for the afternoon and I somehow drew another tag-a-long, Wade. At least the scar-covered man showed interest in Gavin's chatter, so I could pretty much act without scrutiny-or so I had thought.

Passing through one of the cacophonous slot-rooms, I tested my glamours of fortune a little on the a couple of machines. I won enough to make up for the "paycheck" I had spent on house paint at the beginning of the week. Unfortunately, steely-eyed Wade and marble-gazed Gavin saw me win. When the tattle twins later told the rest of our group, Tegan volunteered me to buy dinner for everyone. By then I was feeling heady from so much wyrd and probably had let my guard down against the seductive woman's faery-aroma, so I agreed. At least, I was able to find a $10 buffet, so my too-lazy-to-use-their-own-magic confederates did not eat all of my profit.

After our early-bird dinner special, the consensus was to visit Mandalay Bay en mass. For the general getting of a sense of the Strip, we had all been willing to meander effectively apart. However for the one place we had been wormed too show respect, we adopted a greater-safety-in-greater-numbers approach.

The groups integrity lasted all of fifteen minutes, once we entered Mandalay Bay. Cumulo-numbskull Russel just wandered towards the card tables as soon as he saw them, muttering something about a system. Tallwind only shook his head and rolled his dull-eyes, indicating that he had been stuck with the green-tinted mooch most of the day and this was what he had come to expect. I had to imagine it was mostly the longer-fingered man's own fault, because if Russel had money with which to gamble, then I could only assume that Tallwind provided the initial stake.

Then, since none of us had been sure precisely what we were looking for, we just walked around the resort—looking for something out of the ordinary enough to suggest a fae duchy. Only, Tallwind, Runner, and Wade all wandered off at various points—each claiming he would catch up. Apparently the so called men had felt that the safety of numbers only mattered, if we found this Golden Duchy place.

Meanwhile, Mandalay Bay had been much like all the other casinos I had seen thus far, shiny neon rich areas full of bells and whistles and slot machines, wide open marbled halls for access to check in desks or stores or restaurants, 24 hour nightclubs and feature act theaters discreetly off to the side. Except for the gambling, the entries to the various eateries or show spaces were always nice, yet seemed small. Although some places did offer tantalizing peaks inside, like the restaurant, Aureole, were attractive women in outfits that were like tuxedos except showing their bare legs, rose and fell on massive bunji cords inside a three-story glass-sided wine-rack and selected vintages for the diners. Mandalay Bay did have one feature that immediately I felt set it well above the other casinos, though. The pervasiveness of cigarette smoke and slot machine noises were dramatically less than any place else I had visited—perhaps do to the greater abundance of potted and hanging live plants.

When Gavin, Tegan, and I got to the Shark Reef Aquarium, we knew we had found our goal. The ticket booth was being run by a lady with snake eyes and a vertical nose slits. The line was fairly short, so we waited and phoned our other allies to join us. When the three of us approached the ticket booth, the attendant's salmon-red forked tongue flicked out once—tasting our auras perhaps. She asked in a lowered voice, if we wanted backstage passes. It was $25 for a three-day pass and we all had to get one. Absolutely had to, our curiosities would allow for no less.

I was fairly certain that the _twang-thrum_ sensation, that accompanied the purchase and related membership agreement, felt remarkably similar to the one I had upon joining Ariadne's rare books club. Each of us studied our laminated passes for any contractual fine print. Satisfied, we draped the affixed lanyards around our necks. Tegan and Gavin then insisted on waiting for the rest of our gang to catch up, before the six of us headed into the aquarium exhibit. Tallwind apparently had not been able to pull Russel away from the tables, not that I imagined he had trued very hard.

Even though I had so recently found myself living with actual magic, I still quite impressed with the displays. Even just the sheer number of ocean dwellers that had been successfully relocated to the heart of the desert was amazing—Shark Reef easily lived up to its name with several of almost every variety of the toothy fish, as well as dozens of habitats full of other sea scenes and life. At one point our sextet passed through a tunnel of glass on either side and above, on the other side of the transparent barrier sharks swam like eerie clouds. I wondered how much, if any, of the aquarium had happened through mundane ingenuity. Whatever the case, it was all pretty and interesting. About three quarters of the way through the displays, there was an alcove that none or the mortal patrons seemed to notice.

In the alcove, there was an archway, blocked with a gold velvet rope from whish hung a sign "Members Only". Beyond the rope, we saw a darkened stairwell leading down. On the interior circumference of the passageway was a band of polished metal. Wade instinctively said it was brass. Like at Ariadne's, the brass seal was inscribed with a particular phrase in many languages. Unlike Ariadne's, the central floor marking read "Duchy d'Or" with an inlaid enamel crest (two gold keys, crossed on a field of crimson). The six of us passed through and headed down.

The Gardens of Paradise (as we would learn it was also called) opened out before us. We had descended for a while, then the last twenty foot of stair was open to the cavernous room. They stairs also chose then to bend into a spiral. The room was very at home in Vegas for it's vast and open size, as well as the perpetual "just past twilight" lighting. Anomalous to the city above, the Gardens were indeed that—gardens. Lush and fanciful night foliage grew and bloomed throughout. We saw one waterfall as we descended and could hear several others. Again like Sin City, there were areas of people and gaming clustered amongst the plants everywhere. Unlike a typical casino, though, the sounds that rose to meet us where soft and natural: voices, conversations, some birds and other wildlife, all mixed with the rushing waters to make a gentle rolling thrum—rather than the constant artificial clanking, beeping, bopping, klaxony of an average casino.

My group fanned out, but kept visual tabs on one another. The games had that changeling twist: some were throwing bones for your fortune, while others bet on your outcome. One game was some elaborate, multi-person set up that uses rune tiles like dominos. Also, there was Mahjong, as well as many others. There was food and drink as well, in all colors and served in unusual containers.

I sought out an employ for directions to an information booth. Charis, a cute, wandering refreshment girl (like a cigarette girl, only with snacks) helped me. She had squirrel-like features.

"Pardon me," I said stepping in front of her and reading her name tag, "Uh, Charis? Yes, I was hoping you could direct me to an information booth?"

The vulnerable looking employee blinked her double large eyes and twitched her nose a little. "I am not sure what you mean, sir? You wish to purchase some knowledge?"

"Ah, um," I looked around uncertain—suave as ever—"not exactly. I am new here and this place is sort of like a mall. So, I thought there might be a desk where I could get a map and maybe some other information?"

"Oh…" Charis nodded, but no understanding graced her lightly furred features, "Would you like a nut?" She said perkily gesturing to the tray of treats she carried.

"No," I sighed, "not right now." I took a breath, collected my thoughts, and tried again. "I would like to speak with someone that could explain…" I just waved my hand to encompass the cavernous gardens. "And, perhaps, go over rules of etiquette and other acceptable behaviors here."

"Oh!" this time Charis's squirrelly eyes and ears perked with comprehension and solution. "You're looking for a concierge?" she said half as a statement, half as a question.

I took it. If a concierge was not what I wanted then maybe they could direct me further. I followed Charis's large, swaying, fluffy brown tail to the Concierge Lounge. Luckily, for the squirrel lady, Wade had come over to join me in time to make certain that I tipped Charis for the service. Less lucky for me, the haggard fencer had been watching my whole exchange and sniggering at my efforts to talk to the cute girl.

As I would discover later there were several Concierge Lounges scattered throughout the faery-casino-garden, the one to which the nut seller led us was centrally located. The lounge was on a mound, ringed by a red velvet rope and covered with pillows and cushions. Various customers, of even more varied spirit-touched appearances, did in fact lounge about the cushions, drinking from crystal glasses or smoking rainbow-hued smokes from hookahs.

After only a few seconds a willowy woman glided over (not a metaphor). Her robes were diaphanous and flowed as if in a gentle updraft, as did her long pale hair, and I could not see her feet to verify if they touched the pillows or ground.

"May I help you gentlemen?" the concierge's voice was light and melodic.

"I… that is we," I tried to include Wade (the only one of my companions still with me), in spite of the distraction the floaty person represented, "were interested in information."

"_Only_ information?" the concierge arched eyebrows and tone made it seem as if she thought that was short-sighted.

"Well," I tried to explain, "We are very new and don't know where to start. And we're concerned we may accidently offend. So, if we could get a primer of where things are and maybe some general expectations of manners that we should follow… That's the sort of help we're looking for." I consciously kept my feet from shuffling apologetically.

"Certainly, we could provide some basic etiquette," the diaphanous woman replied with a graceful bow of her head.

"And they would also be able to answer questions about local groups and their general locations?"

The ephemeral lady seemed slightly confused. "We would endeavor to meet all your needs."

"And, uh, how much do you ask for this service?" I requested, having realized that this was not going to be a free information desk sort of thing.

"You may retain twenty four hours of access to one of our guides for $100," she said

My heart vacillated little. I felt like I could get the money, but it was a lot. Twenty four hours seemed like a great option, but I did not have the time right then. I decided to return after I got paid again.

"Do you accept paper currency?" I asked, just in case.

The wispy concierge smiled as a sophisticate speaking to a kindly bumpkin. "Certainly, we have arrangements made for such exchanges." Her eyes flickered to the stairs and up. Indicating, they worked with the casino above.

I thanked her. Wade and I went to find the others. Gavin, blocky as ever, was nearby, simply standing and staring at everything, his mouth partially open. The rough edged weightlifter was able to direct us to a grove of bamboo, into which Tegan had entered. The athletic beauty exited the grove as we three men approached.

Tegan had been much more successful with information gathering. As a result, I felt had saved me the money for a guide, thus making up for the dinner thing.

"The spirit-touched of Las Vegas," Tegan relayed, as her emerald eyes sparkled with excitement and the many lantern lights of the Pleasure Gardens, while we stood in a small huddle in a quiet alcove-like space formed by some saplings, "and surrounding lands, belong to the Red Court of the Western Territories. d'Or is one duchy within the greater court. There is another duchy within Las Vegas, called d'Argent, and it is most easily accessed via The Mirage casino." Rose red lips purse to one side as she paused to think of what else she had learned. "The Red Court is currently—and most often—governed by the heads of Fire. The Queen… Pataya, or Patyaya, or something like that rules from her court somewhere in Red Rock and King… Tamerlane, rules from Xanadu, the City Below."

"So, urm he's arararound hererere somewhere rrgh?" Runner asked craning his whiskery face from side to side, trying to see the reported monarch.

Tegan shook her head, "No, I don't think so. This is Duchy d'Or, I got the impression that Xanadu is nearby, though."

The curvy lady then went on to mention several other facts and names to which I failed to pay proper attention. I had been distracted early on by one particular piece of data that Tegan had reported in the same earnest everything-has-equal-import manner. That piece of news had been that there were others in Vegas. Others than fae, beings that are considered to be barbarians and Broken Ones by the spirit-touched.

Wade shrugged angular shoulders and rested his scared hands on his hips, "Barbarians could mean all sorts of things to these people." He sounded as if he were not as much a changeling as any of the dozens of people in the cave-garden. "It could be their slang for the mafia, or corporate assholes, or lawyers, or any number of brutish or dangerous types of people."

Tegan deep-pink lips set firm and she shook her head slowly. "Not people… well not normal mortal-type people anyway. It was clear that these barbarians are something more dangerous and dark."

"Oh crap." I said flatly. "It's going to be vampires… or werewolves, or both." I received blank and incredulous stares, to which I responded with a flourish of my hand to indicate our surroundings. "Since magic and fairy tales are real, I'm betting that all of the rest of the stories are real too. So, vampires and werewolves, zombies and creatures from the black lagoon, and all of it." I tilted my head to the side. "Although monstrous fish-men seemed to be loners and barbarians implies many working together."

"Maybe they're just no good, rotten spirit-touch," Tallwind grumbled, "like those redcap bastards."

I saw that Tegan had more she wanted to talk about, so I just quickly added, "Whatever the case, the locals call them barbarian and say be careful, so we should take extra care." I still fretted too much about the probable monsters lurking in Las Vegas to register the rest of the lithe redhead's report.

By the time Tegan had finished, Gavin had nudged me. "Hey, Tommy, shouldn't we get going? Don't we have shifts at Elements tonight?"

I hoped that the large earthen-man was right. It occurred to me then that we had completely missed Thursday night, in order to complete the portal ritual. Neither of us had even been able to call in to Dave either.

So, we departed the Pleasure Gardens of d'Or. On the way out of the "mortal" casino, I did delay to buy a souvenir; a miniature aquarium, full of plastic fish. Once back at our oaken haven, I gave the bauble to Rai. Since the stoic felinoid had not been able to partake of my generosity of a buffet dinner, I did not want him to feel slighted…. If Rai happened to notice anything the rest of us ever did. Also, I sort of wanted to try and cheer the big guy up since he did not get a magic door to New York like he had wanted. Even though Rai rarely seemed to acknowledge the rest of us, he was still a large and relatively scary dude, so any little gesture that might keep me on his good side was worth the effort.

It seemed clear why Gavin and I wanted to get back to Athens to make our shifts at Elements. I do not know why all the rest of our Vegas expedition also insisted on returning with us, yet they did. Even Sol and Russel had responded to the news of our departure and rejoined our party.

Luck was with us all the way. We caught one of the last bus rides to the Red Rock Visitor's Center. We had no problem finding our boulder-niche. In fact we each admitted to feeling a sort of tingle in our noses when we concentrated on returning to Amy's tree and faced the direct direction. Rai even agreed to lead several of us to Areadne's and Tegan said she would meet us there later to guide us home.

Theoretically, any of us could find our own way between the bookstore and our oak. However, Tegan and Rai simply found the shortest paths using glamour. Besides the Briar is always somewhere along a spectrum from gloomy and ominous to down right terrifying, so I saw no need to make my own way when someone else had magic that would make the journey easier.

On the way through Thorns, we passed a snozberry bush, I recognized the berries from the one Peter Dionysus had given me several over a week earlier. The plump berries were roughly half an inch in diameter with the same shape as a raspberry, they were deep, glistening blue-purple. The bush itself had been roughly three feet in diameter and height, with brown speckled, dark green, heart shaped leaves. The berry count on that bush had been low and in inverse proportion to the abundance of sharp thorns—each between one half to a whole inch in length with squat bases and sharp, curved edges and points, much like a dog or cats teeth.

The snozberry Dionysus had offered me at Ariadne's, while we discussed Fetch had sated me as well as one full meal and lasted easily as long. I wanted to stuff my pockets, however the fruit were as delicate as raspberries and the thorns were tricky to avoid. So, I settled for picking three berries that I could carry carefully in hand; one for me, one for Philomena, and one for my membership contract to Ariadne's. The plump fruit was slightly heavier and warmer than had I expected.

I was still not yet clear on the parameters of what "created by heart or hand" and "on the premises" meant in the membership agreement I signed at Sheaves & Leaves. I knew I was well past the one-hundred yard distance that Philomena had stipulated, however, as far as I knew then, I could not get into or out of the Briar without entering Ariadne's. So, I felt that was another blurry area that I should err on the side of cautious generosity, rather than try and keep more for myself and suffer some undefined punishment later.

Like the last time I passed the bookstore at night, I was to distracted to make note of much more than it was darker and quieter than in the daytime. As our little troupe passed through Sheaves & Leaves I stopped at the entry desk. I was mildly disappointed to see that the bespectacled lisping blond lady was not present, presumably she only worked the day shift. In Philomena's stead—specifically, on the desk—was a long haired black cat.

I stood before the large old-desk and spoke to the cat. "Are you working the desk tonight?"

The cat sat in a sphinx position, stared at me, blinked once slowly, then inclined it's head forward and back slightly. Either the creature nodded to my question, or it was just a cat, I chose to believe the former. I then placed two snozberries on the desk and said, "One for Ariadne's, you can have the other." I would have preferred to have given the fruit to Philomena, yet saw no way to ensure that.

The cat deftly flipped an empty glass over, covering one berry and started eating the other. I felt vindicated in my assumptions and left, to drive Gavin to work.

Elements was fine. I started to notice a personal boredom, or perhaps disinterest, with normal people. I did not dwell on it very much, for no matter how attractive bar patrons might be, I was never very interested in being part of that scene. Even so, that was the first time I consciously noticed how dull and somewhat diluted mortals generally seemed to be.

Dave had been bemused at my apology for missing Thursday. "I didn't think I had you scheduled for yesterday." We were in his little glorified-closet of an office and he checked a clipboard that he had hanging on a nail. "Yeah… um, nope, closing Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and opening on Sundays. Plus, close on Thanksgiving."

"_Oh_," I covered for my memory gaff, "that must have bee my mistake. I saw the Thanksgiving Thursday am just plugged in all the rest in my mental calendar." I smiled, "_Phew_, I had myself real worried there, thinking I missed my second day on the job. I'll test myself a copy of the schedule to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"That's cool, I can text it for you." The manager offered. 'You should just get behind the bar."

I was actually more rattled than I had let on. If I had forgotten my own employment schedule—something very important to me—then what else had I not been tracking. I resolved to not only continue with my note taking and journaling, but also to review my writings at least once per day.

As for the bar tending, I felt exceptionally satisfied after the wyrd that I had winnowed while in Vegas, which may have caused my malaise with the mortals, it definitely made me a little distracted. I wound up letting a group of five drink-and-dash on a substantial bill. Even with the loss to cover the deadbeats, though, the club was still packed enough that grossed more in tips than Wednesday.

Elements' newest brick-ish bouncer and I figured we would crash a few hours at the rental, after our shifts, mostly because we were not sure if any of the rest of our collective had checked in on the place since returning from Sin City. As my Festiva pulled closer t to our little ranch-style, I saw that the light in the garage was on, yet the rest of the house was dark. I pointed out to Gavin and asked, "That seem odd to you?"

"It does.' My reddish-orange companion said without hesitation. "I mean, it could be someone just forgot to turn the light off, but I was thinking it felt wrong, even before you pointed it out."

So, I drove past and parked around the corner. The two of us walked back and snuck up to the garage window. It was clear that the redcaps had left something hanging in our garage. Alright, it was an assumption that the 'caps had done the deed, however it proved true in the end. Whatever had been left hung and swayed near the roll down door at an angle that did not let us see any details, just the moving shadows cast by the lit light.

"So," I whispered, "I'm thinking the redcaps left a dead dog in there like they had in their garage."

Gavin gently tugged my jacket sleeve and had me step around the side of the garage to where none of the house window's could see us, before he whispered back, "Yeah, that seems pretty likely. But I'm worried it's also bait. Like there's a pipe-bomb, or something, rugged to the door, if we open it."

"Sure," I nodded, still keeping my voice as low as possible, "or they might even be waiting in ambush inside the house."

I had hoped that the cleansing salt ritual I had performed on Monday would have kept the frat-holes out of our place entirely. However, the method had only come from a mundane book and the 'caps had clearly entered the garage. On the other hand, I vaguely recalled not cleansing the garage because Rai's Suzuki had been in parts all over the floor.

Regardless of my attempts at mystical protections, the two of us conferred in quick whispers and agreed to assume the 'caps were lurking in the house. So, we retraced our sneak, back to my Festiva. Then we slit the list of our housemates and phoned them all. We only reached two of the others, I spoke with Runner and Gavin talked to Sol. The svelt hirsute man then picked up the black-eyed blond in his taxi and headed over.

The four of us probably would not be selected to participate in any Call of Duty style operations, yet we did work in a fair amount of coordinated stealth. First we made sure the yard was clear, circling inward from as many direction as possible right up to the walls—and being careful not to step on the spiked boards I had planted earlier. Then we methodically entered and moved through the house. All off us had seen cop shows and Gavin's firefighter training helped to make us a bit less theatrical.

For the most part I hang a little ways back and tried to look more obvious than my comrades, as even with my faery light as dim as possible, It still made me fairly visible. The plan had been that if any assailants did lay in wait, then they would probably target me first. Thus allowing my allies to locate and counter attack any rushing enemies. I had some private trepidation that the frat-caps might have guns, however chose to believe that they were not bright enough to upgrade from their sawed-off baseball bats.

Other than some little blood smears near the front door, our rental home was empty, undisturbed, and quiet.

We saved the garage for last and entered via the house's interior connecting door. The nighttime-nimble lass of the shadows opened the door and the stony muscleman lept into the lit garage, well-toned Runner and I followed. We all had still mostly been expected a dead animal to be hanging from the rafters, yet were prepared for a trap of some sort.

In the garage the four of us found the wrinkly mass of Tallwind, strung up and bleeding. it was hard to recognize the man at first, from how his loose and fire scarred flesh draped over his features. The redcaps had bound Tallwind's arms and legs, hung by his feet, and made a cut across his forehead. The vicious bastards had bled our ally, like a pig or deer. The pattern of dark reddish stains on the floor looked like the 'caps had filled a bucket, or buckets, with Tallwind's blood. The unfortunate man was still alive, at least, although more pale than Sol and far from conscious.

I admit that I had been of little help at that point, beyond providing a brighter patch of moonlight glow to add to the overhead light-bulb. I did have some basic first aid training, mostly from a couple of summers spent lifeguarding. However, the horror of our house having been violated combined with imagining that I might have been in Tallwind's place, left me quivering with fury and fear. Plus, even if I consider our ritual with Amy as sleep, I had still been awake for a whole and busy day by then and I was starting to feel the exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Gavin used his ample strength to steady the trussed man, while Runner climbed swift and nimble into the garage rafters to cut the cord holding Tallwind. The trained rescue worker let the bled man down to the bare concrete-floor as gently as possible. Gavin must have had far moiré medical training and experience than I, although did not get the chance to practice it. Instead, lustrous-skinned and slinky Sol applied some poultice she had in a prepared packet, along with a makeshift bandage.

I was shaky and nervous, while my allies were as detached as always and I was relieved for that. Their typical disinterest in whatever was around them let these three act undisturbed during a very disturbing situation. Afterwards, I would wonder if the detachment was a trait that the Keepers had purposefully instilled, or if it was a survival trait that I simply had not adopted to the same degree.

Then we quickly agreed on our next moves. We considered leaving two of us at the house as guards, however no-one wanted to volunteer. So, the mighty Gavin carried the overweight Tallwind with ease, placed him in the back of Runner's cab, and sat in the front passenger seat to monitor the wounded man's condition. Sol sat with Tallwind's head in her lap in the back. Then I followed in my Festiva and we all got to Sheaves & Leaves as quickly smoothly as possible.

Perhaps Tallwind should have been taken to O'Bleness Hospital instead. However, I believe that my account of the days leading up to this moment sufficiently indicate that none of us were thinking particularly clearly under ideal conditions and an emergency only muddled the situation. For my part—and I assume my companions were experiencing the same—in the week and a half since I had awoke as a changeling back in the Real World, I had been experiencing an underlying distrust of everything that was a little stronger when it came to mortals. So, when seeking aid for Tallwind, other spirit-touched came more readily to mind than mortal doctors. Plus, we had no idea if normal medicine would even work on any of us any more.

By the time I parked in Sheaves & Leaves's gravel lot, my paranoia of being ambushed anywhere by bloody headed frat-monsters, had kicked my awareness-adrenalin into gear. So, this time, I took in a great deal of detail of the night time bookstore and tea shop. After normal/mortal business hours Sheave & Leaves was still open, however the side entrance was used to allow the front façade to appear as closed, like any other respectable business. Areadne's "after hours" has a much grimmer and more gothic vibe, dim lighting casting ominous shadows accounted for most of the effect. Yet, the fixtures and furnishings seemed older somehow, as well. I hoped to avoid this time of day at the fae shop in the future. Contrarily, Sol seemed to get a spring to her step on the gloomy hardwood floors.

Fortunately, Tegan and Wade were waiting in the garden for any of our troupe to arrive for guidance back to Amy's oak. There was no cell reception in Ariadne's or within the Briar as a whole, so our two comrades had not received the messages Gavin and I had left. I hoped that our report of what had happened encouraged the military-esque lady and the professional fencer to check their messages out in the front lot, on future trips to sit and wait at the bookstore.

As I explained what we knew and suspected to Tegan and Wade, the supple-skinned and crimson-haired woman knelt next to Tallwind, where Gavin had gingerly placed him in the soft damp grass. The Tegan blew gently on the bloodless wrinkled face, casting her Breath of Comfort glamour on our. Color returned to Tallwind's flabby cheeks and his breathing became stronger and more steady in moments. However, the scarred and weathered fellow remained deeply unconscious.

Gavin and Tegan both gave Tallwind a more thorough examination then, including checking pulse and manually opening an eyelid. The rest of us stood around quietly wondering what to do next, as the two more experience medics conferred. In hardly any time at all, the shapely lady and the partial un-formed man concurred that their patient did not have a concussion or any other identifiable damage, beyond the forehead cut and a lump on the side of his head.

Ultimately the duo felt that Tallwind was stable and should get bed rest until his woke and could say whether he wanted to be taken to the hospital or not. So, with confidence in the wounded man's ability to recover, Gavin carefully placed the body over his shoulder in a typical fireman's carry and we all followed Tegan into the inky blackness of the Thorny Edge Maze.


	13. Chapter 13

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

Day 12: Saturday, November 19th

The sun had not risen, yet the predawn light started across the sky as we walked. Not that any of our troupe could readily tell through the thick canopy of the Briar Tangle, only a rare sliver of sky ever peeked through on the route we traversed. The air had been moist and crisp, each breath could be seen in the moonbeam light in which my Lumor magic surrounded us. Patches of frost covered leaves and tree trunks. A remarkably potent smell of pumpkins and warm wax lingered in a waft about our party for most of our trek. I, of course, had cast Summer's Embrace to keep myself comfortable

Tegan led, slipping and swaying through the brush at the edge of my luminous radius, graceful as a leisurely steam. Gavin clompped like a mobile wall with his unconscious burden in the center of our troupe. Runner and I paced the big guy on either side, I took the left where Tallwind was slung, in case Gavin had to swing at something with his free right hand. I wanted to be well clear of the sledgehammer stone fist. Wade strode and Sol virtually glided behind us.

Then my faery-light revealed a gentleman leaning against a tree before us. By all appearances a Victorian gentleman complete with top hat, cane, and spats. Upon our approach, the tall and slender fellow removed his hat to perform an elegant bow.

"Greetings fellows," the man spoke in the British accent to match his attire, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Spring-heeled Jack." He had a wry smile and dark mischievous eyes.

I parodied his bow and Said in my most chipper voice. "Hi, I'm Tom."

"Just 'Tom'?" Mr. Jack's incredulity and mild offence was hard to miss.

"Well, Tommy. Um," I realized he had given me a full name and decided it best to meet such exchanges as equally as possible, "Twilight Tommy to be precise."

It was the first time since my captivity that I had spoke my faery name aloud. At first my five conscious comrades sniggered, then one by one as it was their own turns to provide an identifier, each found themselves reconsidering telling this enchanting stranger their True Names.

I could not tell if it was my own pseudonym that had ultimately triggered the others' caution, or that we were doing introductions in the Briar, or some other unseen factor that reminded my allies that creatures of power can use True Names to bind and manipulate. I know I flashed back more clearly to our flight from the Folk's Lands, when we met up again, still in rags, and shared our new safe-names in the thorny darkness—before dashing back to Kendal through the Tangle jumble and having our memories scrambled further. Regardless the reason, each of my companions did finally stop using their birth names and introduced themselves by the names I had only been able to partially recall over the last eleven or twelve days.

"Gavin, uh, Gavin Granitbane, that is." The large ex-fireman waved his free brick-hand.

"I go by Tegan Bramblerose." She had held back and let us catch her up. The shapely woman curtseyed a little for Spring-heeled Jack.

"Call rrr me urm Freerunnererer." The otter-y man grumble-mumbled, crouched over in a posture that may have been a prolonged bow.

"I'll be Iron Wade the Man of Steel." The weather worn man stepped purposefully from behind Gavin, projected his raspy voice emphatically, and placed his fists on his hips.

Iron Wade may protest my spelling of "Steal" in his nom de plume. To which I say let him write his own story. My way both feels right to me and is much more amusing.

"_You_ may call me Dark Sol," the platinum blond purred as she slinked forward and let the stranger bow again to kiss her hand. Sol giggled appreciatively.

I might have also sniggered or rolled my eyes at the clumsy theatrics of my comrades, save that I did not want to show this Spring-Heeled chap a divided party. Also, I was distracted a little by my own thoughts. With each name stronger flashes of having met them in the Hedge before came to me. We had met on the run from our Masters and the introductions had been hurried. I still did not recall the full name for Russell or Rai, but I did remember the rest of Mr. Granitbane's shoulder baggage.

"And Gavin's potato sack," I gestured to our unconscious ally, "is Sean Tallwind."

Spring-Heeled Jack was disarmingly charming and before I realized it we were all having a present little chat in the middle of the danger filled woods. I did worry early in the conversation that Mr. Jack himself was one of the aforementioned dangers, however no attacks came so I did not cling to the notion. In retrospect, I wonder if the dapper gent might have used a glamour similar to Tegan's hypnotic aroma, or an especially wyrd filled version of my own Fairest Tongue glamour.

For the most part SH Jack was curious about local politics and gossip, claiming to "… have been wandering the world for some time". Which led quickly to Jack revealing that Athens also had a court of spirit-touched. Most of my colleagues were as stunned as myself, except for Tegan.

"Well," the auburn bombshell told our new acquaintance, "we are all very new to this, but I was just talking to someone in the Red Court of the Western Territories and she mentioned that the local court hereabouts recently became one of smoke and mirrors?" She made it a question to see if her listener understood the meaning.

Sociable Spring-heeled smiled widely, "That's wonderful. I had heard similar, however it is nice to get some corroboration prior to visiting the Court proper. In truth, I should have guessed, as the Mid-Western Territories are almost exclusively governed by the wisdom of Earth or the surreptitious Ice and without snow on the ground in November, the latter is the most the obvious bet." He tapped his pointy chin in thought for a moment. "And Smoke and Mirror can only mean that Redhorn and Glass have once again ascended."

I was caught off guard with the plethora of data, my mind raced to form the new puzzle pieces and assign more connections. I never stepped particularly close to Spring-Heeled, so I did not get a specific sense of what Graces he may wear, however his reaction to Tegan's hearsay and his own phrasing made me suspect that he was of a melancholic humor. I did not remember all of the various associated symbology, although I did know that smoke and mirrors—as well as the spleen and the direction West—were all aspects of that humor. I continued to listen and trued not to become distracted within my own skull.

"Is that true for all the courts close to Ariadne's Freehold?" the wily redhead's viridescent-crystal eyes had also widened mild surprised, yet she also phished for more confirmations related to what she had apparently gathered in the bamboo grove f the Golden Duchy.

I suspected our shapely strategist was also verifying Spring-Heeled's veracity as much as anything else. However, I was intrigued by the Freehold designation. It was also at that point that I gained some idea of how much knowledge I had missed, while I fretted about possible vampires and the like. I made a mental note, and hoped, to be able to get Tegan to repeat all of her findings when we were once again safe in our haven.

"Ariadne has a Freehold of her own?" It was Jack's dark and silvery eyes turn to widened with mild surprise as he nodded appreciatively. "I suppose I have been away longer than I had thought" The lanky Englishman pursed his thin lips to consider his reply to Tegan's question. "As for the other nearby courts, I could not say, as I do not know the placement of Ariadne's Freehold in relation to those locations… What sort of holding has Ariadne formed?"

"A rare books collection and tea shop." I offered, from where I stood approximately in the center of our gathering. "Called Sheaves & Leaves."

"Well," Iron Wade amended, running one of his scarred hands through his hair, "that's mostly for the normal folk. The seal around each door reads terra Nullis."

"Oh," Jack said and bobbed his head in approval, "she established a neutral territory. That must be advantageous to many."

I mentally smacked my forehead. "Terra" territory and "Nullis" neutral, neutral territory not no mans land. I absolutely should have done my own research rather than relying on my companion's guesswork.

"So, hold on," Gavin starched his rough orange cheek with the sound of cinderblocks rubbing together, "We're saying that there's like medieval courts running in the US? Not just some fancy mock-up in Vegas for the tourists?"

"Absolutely… " the thin Brit beamed then proceeded to elucidate on what he clearly considered to be basic spirit-touched society structures. Again the man was damn charming and never seemed to be lecturing or condescending—no matter what question my allies asked. I was surprised once more when I realized this was the first time my haven-mates had been together asking questions in a polite manner and not deluging Jack with rapid and rapacious inquiries.

The essence of what Spring-Heeled Jack conveyed was that there are fae governed territories all over the world and the North American continent housed about a dozen. The territories were established for a variety of reason, not the least of which was to help spirit-touched band together to better ward off the Folk. Each territory tends to have a central governing body usually called a court. As most territories cover a large expanse of the Mortal World (the Mid-West Territories spans as far west as Indiana, north well into Michigan, although none of Wisconsin, east into parts of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, and south almost to the border of Ohio), smaller versions of the courts often crop up to oversee the more populated or farther away parts of a territory; these lesser courts get many designations such as duchy, barony, principality, peerage, and so on. Who leads these various courts and how varies wildly and can thus cause conflicts between territories.

After one such comment, Mr. the Man of Steal, interjected "I thought you said the point was to defend against the Keepers? Where's the disagreements?"

"That _is_ one thing that the courts all share in common." Mr. Jack nodded. "However precisely how to set up those defenses is a point of common disagreement. Plus, there are many other things the courts do for their changeling vassals."

I did not like the sounds of "vassals", but tried to keep an open mind until I could verify more. The fae literature I had read so far, often used a word in a slightly manner to which I was accustomed.

From there the conversation had returned to my favorite bookstore, as SH was saying, "… Freeholds do not hold territories, rather they are more like self contained city-states, usually claiming a small fortifiable structure or structures. They are, almost exclusively, ran independently of the territory in which they are located. Which is why a neutral holding, such as you say Ariadne has established, is usually a good choice."

"I don't quite get it?" Gavin again.

"Well… " Jack considered a moment. "Imagine that Ohio was its own country and it was ran by a dictator. Only the people of Columbus did not want to live according to the dictatorship, yet also did not have the resources to try and overthrow the government. However, through political machinations the leaders of Columbus convinced the Dictator of Ohio to let them govern themselves, as long as they did not try and spread beyond their city's borders. That is pretty much a Freehold." He raise a long pale finger. "And the easiest way to convince the greater governing body that your freehold will not cause trouble, is to make it neutral so that you represent no political affiliation of your own."

As we were all standing relatively exposed within the Briar, Spring-Heeled Jack did not go into details, rather he acknowledge that there were nuances and particularities to each system.

Eventually, the slightly waning Dark Sol had asked the accented socialite about his journeys. Jack claimed that he spent most of his time traveling the Maze Between, yet also implied that he had made rare excursions into dangerous sounding places such as Pandemonium, the City of Brass, Neverland, and more. I did take out my notebook and jot down the various names for future research, however I was waning as well by then.

All of my party was starting to droop a little from lack of rest. Although Sol was worst of all as her day-sickness was also kicking in.

We made our goodbyes and Tegan started to lead us once more towards home. I had been quite proud of my allies, not only had they conversed like civilized people (as opposed to their more usual inquiry blitzkrieg), none of them had invited the lanky stranger back to our safe-haven either. I had worried that one of my companions would invited the potential con-man back to our abode, simply to have a more comfortable place to chat.

I was also not confident that we gained nearly as much from our run in with Mr. Jack than he did from us—certainly more than most of us were expecting. For, as we parted ways, five of us looked back to locate our sixth conscious member, only to witness the formally attired Spring-Heeled Jack dancing with our goth club-girl Sol. A few steps, Sol's straight silken hair swayed a counter to the swish of her black-satin shimmery skirt, and then both dancers were gone.

"Oh, crap!" came Tegan's concerned exclamation. "We should go after them… only Mi… Sean needs to get into bed… Maybe we could split up…"

I did not like that split-up talk at all. "Whoa," I held up my suntanned hands and patted the air to try and get Tegan to slow down, "let's think a second." I took a deep breath and the heart-shaped faced lady did the same. I continued, "Sol's been flirting with that guy from the word hello. Plus, he did not ask her to stay behind, she went back of her own volition. And, most important, she's an adult." I shrugged. "As far as I can tell they're on a date, not an abduction." I tilted my head forward to emphasize the earnest look that I gave Tegan. 'Would you really want any of us barging in on you on a first date? Even if we had the best intentions?"

I was glad that Runner backed me up, however the others still took more convincing. At least I had gotten Tegan to start us back towards Amy's oak while we discussed it. As we were debating our pale lady's level of peril, we stumbled onto a mound of fresh churned earth. Over two feet high, several feet wide, and running left and right as far as the eye could see into the dim-lit and dense foliage. The freshly loose dirt confirmed that a very, very large burrowing creature had been through quite recently—according to Miss Tegan Bramblerose and Mr. Freerunner, at any rate. Luckily, the burrow had not been heading to or from our oak-haven. So, we pressed on with an ear out for digging noises.

By the time our party arrived back home, Gavin and I had been working on another more than twenty hour long day without sleep. I assume my other haven-mates had gotten some rest while I was working at Elements, however most of them still looked almost as tired as I felt. Even so, we all stayed up to report to the exceptionally well rested Rai what the night had held for us.

Once in the communal living room space, Amaryllis insisted on taking Tallwind and tucking him safe to bed. The athletic dryad carried the unconscious pile of loose skin almost as easily as had Gavin.

For the most part the triangular-eared man had nothing to say to our tale of redcap ambush and torture or our encounter with Spring-Heeled jack and his possible abduction of dark Sol. By then I honestly had not expected the large man to respond and was fairly surprised that his eyes remained opened through the whole talk. Rai did interject when we got to the introductions to Mr. Jack portion of the tale, though.

"Yeah, you know what," the man's golden-green cat-eyes looked sheepishly to the side (a fairly hilarious look on such a predatory face), "I've been thinking that I should be Raion-ju… But you all can just call me Rai"

Rai returned to his ultra-passive listener mode. However when Tegan started to describe her unusual earthen mound we had found, Amy stepped out of the wall and was very agitated, glossy-brown eyes wide and nostrils flaring. The tree spirit remained mostly with the wall as was usual preference, yet she kept pausing or cocking her head as if listening for something from outside.

"What's hrrm the matterrrr Amy?" Freerunner asked, his low mumble-grumble voice tense, his swimmer's body taught and ready to spring into action.

The tall dryad looked wide eyed at 'Runner, elegant-sturdy hands clasped before her firm bosom, "Was the burrower a root eater!?"

"We didn't see the creature," Tegan said sympathetically, "just the trail it left. But it wasn't very close and clearly not pointed this way."

That had not been as reassuring for the dryad as we had hoped, so most of our commune spent the next few minutes trying to calm Amy and dispel her fears. The generally formidable looking tree-lady did become less agitated, although remained fairly tense. Tellingly, Amy requested, "That is all well and good I suppose, but I think you all need to make a fence."

"But… "Gavin was first to say what we all had thought, "even if the thing did come here, it would just go under a fence."

Amy rolled her big brown-eyes and sighed like no-one understood that two plus two equaled four, "That's why you pit it under ground… four or five paced from my trunk should do nicely."

"Won't a fence just decompose , or mess with the… uh, that is, your roots?" Wade's metallic-grey eyes were nearly squeezed shut as his brow furrowed in confusion.

Amy extended forward from the wall, just far enough to place her arms akimbo, "That is why you will have to get some of that noxious metal from that other place you are all always running off to. And Just don't go down deeper than." She raised yellow-brown hand over her head to indicate roughly eight feet from the floor. "_And_ make a fence, not a wall, so smaller things like roots and worms can pass through." She threw up both hands in exasperation and melded into the wall as she turned away.

As a group we all agreed that Amy must be pretty scared if she actually suggested using iron based metal anywhere near her oak. So, we interpreted it as a sign that we had to actually go and try to deal directly with the burrower. The idea of burying a fence had sounded like a chore, while hunting a giant Briar beast to verify that it was not a root eater seemed like a thrilling adventure. As I mentioned earlier, we were all tired and not thinking clearly, except for Rai, who did not speak.

So, I grabbed a quick nap, may be an hour or so, and I believe my comrades did the same. On waking the hunt-the-unknown-something-in-the-Thorns plan seem less exciting, yet not so much so as to dissuade any of us. Well, of those of us that were present at any rate. Sean Tallwind was healing, Dark Sol was off "dancing", and no-one had any idea where Russel was.

Six of us reconvened in the clearing outside our oak-have in our "hunting" gear—mostly that meant dressed in our sturdiest hiking cloths (for those few of us that owned more than one outfit) and the same crowbars and similar makeshift weapons that had been employed against the manticore. Iron Wade the Man of Steal did have an actual rapier in a scabbard at his hip, though.

I knew the leathery man had been a fencing instructor in his old life, so I was sure he could wield the blade, although I was still curious, "Hey, Wade, where did you get the sword?"

"Rapier, specifically." Wade corrected absentmindedly, then with more venom as he drew and inspected the blade before re-sheathing. "I broke into my apartment, one my fetch or spirit-eater or whatever it is, is using and I took it."

"Why didn't you take one of us?" Gavin asked, meaning himself, "What if he caught you?"

Wade shrugged sharp shoulders. "I checked the class schedules and that he still teaches at the university. I just went in when he was in class… the idiot still keeps a spare key where I did, so I didn't even actually break in, exactly."

It was a ballsy move and we had other questions about what Wade had done in the apartment, but he waved them off. Talking about it seemed to make the scarred man angry or melancholy or both, so we let the subject go.

Even though I personally had no intentions of attacking anything, I did feel safer heading into the Maze with some weaponry, for self defense. So, I had my makeshift "brass" knuckles. I wore leather work-mans gloves to protect my hands. In my big jacket-pockets I had a roll of dollar coins for each hand to add weight when I gripped them in my fists. Lastly, was the bit I was most proud of, I had commandeered a length of the cold-iron chain that had shackled Amy. I could easily wrap the black chain around the knuckles of one gloved-hand, adding more weight and theoretically doing even more damage to any other fae-type being.

"Amy?" Tegan spoke to the oak's trunk. "Uh, do you know where Russel is?"

I would have been fine assuming the grass-stained so-an-so wondered back into Vegas to employ his "system", or even that he had tried and just got lost in Red Rock Canyon. However, my well-form ally with the military training liked to be inclusive, especially where manpower (fae-power?, in this case) was likely to be useful. IF Tegan had consulted the rest of us, I would have voiced my opinion that Russel was not likely to provide any power, man or otherwise.

Amy stepped imperiously from within the tree and pointed to a large pod-like, cluster of leaves, hanging from out lying branches of her oak. The dryad crossed her sculpted arms over her ample chest and spoke disapprovingly, "He is having some alone time." The anger and disgust on Amy's oval face prevented any of us from needing to ask about the details of Russell's transgressions towards her.

So, just the six of us headed into the twisty-shifting wilderness. Raion-ju and Tegan Bramblerose lead the way. Gavin Granitbane flexed his mighty fists. Iron Wade the Man of Steal wore his saber. Freerunner and I stayed to the middle of the party. The temperature had increased enough that I almost did not need to spit on another match, I enacted the glamour's trick anyway, for the practice. The crisp and crackly fall foliage continued to make the forest gloomy enough that our excursion still benefitted from my moon-glow aura. I do not know if either of our guides bothered with the tracking glamours, or if any of the others made any mystical preparations.

As we walked there was some discussion of hunting practices. 'Runner, practically a woodland creature himself, seemed a little concerned about the general bloodthirsty attitude our little hunting party had adopted. The hairy fellow grumble-gargled, "If, hrmm, the thing urm is an hrrm animal, I think, hrmph that I can urm talk to hrm it. Maybe, rrr get it to agree urmph to split."

I appreciated the offer of a humane solution and was pleasantly surprised that the other four agreed to help 'Runner try his idea before resorting to more violent methods. However, I think we all continued to have to defend ourselves at the very least.

Our band came upon the burrow/hillock line. Rai did not pause, he just turned left and we picked up pace as we followed the burrow to its head. So, it appeared that Rai either was using his glamour, or his felinoid nose was very good. We almost had to jog along the loose earthen mound, however after ten or fifteen minutes we came to the head of the line.

Whatever was below moved a lot of earth at an impressive pace, we probably would never have caught up had we simply walked. The otherwise solid ground at the head of the mound seemed to bubble and churn, making the burrow several feet long every second. The fresh earth smell mingled with the Briar's current aroma of ripe root vegetables and squash to create a compost sort of smell.

"Okay, K… Freerunner," Tegan was having the same trouble name swapping as I had over a week ago, "your up. Talk to it."

'Runner's wide-set little dark-eyes widened, as he barked a laugh, "Har, I rrr said I errgh could talk to rrirr an animal, mmrr not a load rrr of dirt." He pointed a hirsute finger at the churning earth. "irrm We eithererer need to het rrr that thingrrirr up hererere, orrr me down therere."

Our troupe kept pace with the burrowing beast for a few paces as we discussed options. It came down to, Gavin scooped out a hole just behind the agitated earth and Wade had brought a rope on his backpack. The large reddish-orange rock-man moved loose earth almost as fast as the creature we were trailing, so by the time there was a hole wide enough into whish we could lower 'Runner on the rope, the creature had made very little progress forward. Rai and Wade were at the other end of the otter-y fellow's life-line, although I doubted the larger man needed the skinnier guy's help.

We heard 'Runner's muffled voice, he made noises like an agitated raccoon. The burrowing stopped and the earth at the end of the mound jostled in a way that indicated that the thing had turned to face our furry ally. In seconds, 'Runner was yanking on the rope and yelling to be pulled free.

Just after Rai pulled Freerunner clear, the creature burst up to the surface. Dirt sprayed in a wide shower. The thing was the size and general shape of a full grown hippopotamus. It was reptilian, covered in white scales with black striping akin to a tiger's patternation. Its muzzle was like a wide crocodile's, only with a few extra rows of teeth. The creature had no visible ears and proportionally small, black eyes. It was frenzied and lashed out with fore-claws that were like butcher-knives mounted on garbage-can lid paws attached to tree trunk legs.

All six of us shouted and moved. Some of my comrades—Mr. Granitbane, Iron Wade, and to a slightly lesser degree Miss Bramblerose—were trying to direct the everyone else, although with no unity of purpose. Freerunner and I yelped in dismay and attempted to stay out of everyone else's way, both allies and attacker. While the panther-y Rai virtually roared.

Gavin and Iron Wade the Man of Steel were first to spring into action. Gavin's skin again became stony grey and he stepped right up to the beast and punched the thing in it's massive snout—opening a large gash along the scales. From the other side, our fencer drew his blade, waited poised, and—when the beast reared up from the extra-stony man's blow—swept in and out again quickly, slicing the creatures pale belly wide open.

The monster screeched and lurched to one side, as a dozen or so smaller, fluid covered, versions of the beast spilled out of the purply-red gash Wade had made. The young were the size of large dogs. While my gang danced away from the mother's raking limbs and snapping jaws, the young righted themselves and quickly sprang into action as well; a few started burrowing immediately, most took a moment to try and clean themselves off before turning to attack one of my party, three or did not delay and turned—covered in the odd colored blood of the mother and a more phlegm-like birthing slime—their needle-like fangs towards Gavin and 'Runner.

By then Gavin Granitbane had been knocked to the ground by a mighty swipe from the monstrous mother beast. Agile Tegan Bramblerose seemed flustered, yet had a shiny knife in each hand and avoided being bitten. I had donned my gloves and coin rolls, with my cold-iron knuckleduster on my right hand. I successfully struck the smaller purple-red oozing gash that Gavin had punched open on our prey's snout. The beast flinched at my blow, but otherwise seemed unfazed. I do not know what drove me to enter the fray at all and was too exhilarated to consider such reasoning just then.

'Runner tried once more to communicate. This time the whisker-faced fellow hissed like a snake, or angry cat, so realistically that he must have been using a glamour of some sort. Freerunner succeeded in scaring most of the young creatures, they dove into the ground and burrowed away in all directions, almost as if they had been fish leaping into water and swimming.

Meanwhile, Rai had regained his footing, from where the mother-beast's initial eruption from the earth had tossed him. The normally soft looking man's black skin tightened over solid bunched muscles as he crouched and studied the scaly beast with eye slits wide. Then Rai pounced at the larger beast, he bounded over her swinging head and snapping maw, tumbled, and struck out with arms and legs in mid-roll. A horrible, short series of cracking sounds came as the big man broke the thing's sternum and tore its right leg off. The creature shuddered once and died as almost purple blood shot from arteries where the limb had been.

It only took a few shouts and arm flails for us to scare off the last few young.

Tegan kneeled over our granite grey companion, her auburn ponytail a bright plume, her pouty lips puckered millimeters from his pebbly face. The pretty lady cast her glamour and breathed health back into Gavin. The stony fellow's hardened grey skin returned to it's more normal orangy clay tone and he sprang up as if he had not been touched.

No-one else had been wounded, so we debated what to do.

"None of the young seemed to be headed towards Amy." I observed and leaned my elbow against a tree.

Raion-ju glanced around and sniffed, then nodded agreement.

"And hrrm," 'Runner grumbled dryly, "they clearly rrmph were not urm root eaters."

All six of us chuckled. In short order, we opted to not try and hunt the young ones down. Also, I think most of the others felt as bad as I did about slaying a mother. Even so, the mamma beasty was dead and may be worth something to us in parts.

I do not recall who suggested the collection first, yet everyone was on board without dissent or hesitation. I believe each of us took some teeth. We also kept the leg that Rai had torn free, as the only other easily portable piece. If Rai and Gavin had not been there, then the leg would also have needed to stay behind. The rest of the carcass we covered in as much dirt as we could—to discourage drawing scavengers. Tegan and the cat-man had verified with their magics that we where still fairly close to our haven, so we hoped with tools to more efficiently strip the rest of the corps.

At least I hoped one or two of my cohorts would come back to collect the rest. I valued the idea of gathering rare fae-commodities for future trade with people like Dr. Peter Dionysus. I did not personally enjoy the thought of touching dead things, though.

Amaryllis emerged as we approached. The dryad's usually light, fresh-lumber colored skin had taken on a thornier and more bark-like appearance, she also carried a spear of sharpened wood. Amy spoke in her most earnest and eager voice, while scanning the tree-line with sharp eyes. "Did you find it? Is it coming here? It's a root eater isn't it? Where is it?"

Various members of our party answered in unison. "We found it." "It's not coming." "It's dead." "it wasn't a root eater." "We killed it." And other reassurances. Eventually, the fair Amazonian woman sorted out enough of our babble and finally relaxed.

Then, Iron-head Wade had to mention, "And none of the young were moving anywhere near this way, either."

Which, of course, made Amy tense and nervous all over again. However, our redoubled reassurances of the creature's carnivorous natures and that they had fled in directions away, again eventually seemed to comfort the tree spirit. As our similar statements had not earlier in the day, when we had tried to avoid having to deal with the single large beast. By the end, Amy still insisted, "I suppose that will be well enough, once you plant the fence of iron."

So, our team's efforts to avoid having to purchase and lug fence posts had not been precisely successful.

When we finally all made it inside, I had been looking forward to a hot shower and some serious sleep. Instead, we all flopped into the chairs and couches around our living room, because Sean Tallwind had been there, feeling only slightly battered and interested in sharing the tale of what had happened to him.

The saggy-skinned man told us, "I had gone to the rental to make sure it was still alright. I figured the redcaps might have come back individually, if they had not regrouped. I was only there a few minutes, when someone knocked at the front door." He shrugged in that skin rippling way of his. "I thought maybe one of you guys had lost you key or something. Just as I opened the door, it was slammed open from the other side and something hard hit me in the side of my head, a brick maybe… I remember some of the beating that followed, but no details, other than it was defiantly those redcap assholes."

Gavin and I then told the worn-out man of how we had found him and the trip back to the oak. Mr. Tallwind seemed least pleased at how long it had taken before we actually cut him down. Although, Sean also seemed generally interested in listening, so I also recounted our battle with the giant striped reptile.

Everyone present agreed that we had to take more active and direct measures against the villainous frat-caps. However, Mr. Tallwind did proclaim, "I'm feeling a little better, but I'm not quite up to thinking about go up against those bastards again just yet." He rubbed his multiple chins with his dowel-esque fingers. "I _am_ interested in seeing that carcass you all made, though. And salvaging any hide, or whatnot, that might still be of use."

"I take you." Rai half shrugged.

The discussion was drawn around to the fence that Amy wanted. Tegan was fairly insistent that she wanted to get the project over ASAP, so naturally (or magic aromatically) it was agreed that the fence would be made that day. At least, it was the athletic freckle-faced lady and Gavin that volunteered to take care of the gathering and planting the subterranean fence. Except for the transport part , of course. I was surprised that the brick-red bouncer could stay awake long enough, although I guess firemen often have to pull similar shifts.

'Runner, like me, had said he wanted to get some sleep, instead he was harangued into driving the construction team to from Sheaves & eaves to Lowe's and back again. Gavin had been assuming I would do the deed, however I had the pleasure of pointing out, "Sorry dude, Wade and Sean calculated, what? Like fifty steel posts would be needed for the circumference that Amy wants. Even those relatively thin ones will be way too heavy for my Festiva. Plus, there just wouldn't be enough room for me, two passengers, and all the metal." I nodded to our furry haven-mate. "Freerunner's taxi has that nice big trunk and the much stronger V-6 engine."

Even so, and even though I also would have preferred to sleep, I suggested, "I'll tag along as far as the bookstore, though." I then explained what I had thought of while the rest of them had been dithering about fences. "That creatures leg is not going to improve with age and I bet we could trade it to Dr. Dionysus for some useful information. He might know what to call the thing, at least." I pointed my finger for emphasis. "But, I'm hoping he might a way we can put a stop to our redcap problem."

Fighting the scaly creature had energized my eagerness to come into more direct conflict with the bastards that had bled Tallwind. The others all liked my plan and Iron Wade decided to come with me.

Peter Dionysius was at Sheaves & Leaves's park-like garden when the five of us tromped out of the Briar. At one point, the faun had alluded to teaching at the University of Ohio there in Athens; he must have taught night classes though, since he seems to be in the garden every day.

I had though that Wade and I would wave farewell to our companions as they set about their own errand, instead they all insisted on having a say in the deal that was struck with the goat-featured fellow. Dionysus had been as accommodating as ever and all six of us sat in the cool dry grass, circled around the detached scaly limb. At least, Amy had been able to provide some large sheets of sturdy brown paper, when Tegan had suggested we wrap the bloody parcel. the sun filtered through hazy clouds. It almost felt like late summer, until a breeze would whisk through a chill full of the aromas of burning leaves and cold rains yet to come.

Dionysus had been intrigued and impressed with our story of the burrowing beast. "Hmmm," Dr. D had a stick and prodded the leg that we had uncovered for inspection, "I am certain that I have never heard of one of these before. However, it is definitely not any type of dragon." He assured Tegan, who had suggested it was some kind of dragon earlier.

I took to calling the striped creature a Vermicious K'nid. Until, I found out otherwise, I assumed we were the first spirit-touched to deal with such creatures and survive. Thus, we got naming rights. I took the honor as I was confident that my allies would come up with something as meaningful as Scaly Hippo… Although, in retrospect, I might have agreed to Hippodile.

"However," the goat legged doctor continued, "I do concur with your assessment that it was carnivorous. I also imagine it is highly unlikely that the young will be prone to return." He went on at some length about the trauma the young must have experience and the negative associations they would have with the area of their mother's death.

Iron Wade presented my suggestion, before I could, "So, Doc, would you take this leg in exchange for some answers?"

The man's hourglass-eyes' narrowed behind his semi-circular spectacles, "That depends on what sort of questions."

"Just general stuff," I spoke up, "about local politics, maybe some about types of spirit-touched. You know, like I said before me and my comrades are still pretty fresh and looking to get our bearings with everything."

After just a little more negotiation, Peter agreed and I experienced the _thwnangang-thrum_ of a the Gyr binding me into promise. This time the sensation was quick and relatively loose feeling, with a sort of reverb that I interpreted to be because of several of us participating. I could not recall for certain if my earlier group vows had had similar resonance, although they most likely had.

In exchange for the leg, Dionysus fielded several hours worth of questions. We ranged on topics from the Court of the region (alternately known as the Mid-West Territories, Hawk Wood, and the Salamander Court), to tactics best used against redcaps, to a few more shadow-eater questions. Over all the goateed man seemed most confident and detailed regarding crypto-biology with some sense of current local fae socio-politics. As a tactician, the academician favored the "run away" method of dealing with conflicts.

As before, the short doctor was far more detailed in his responses than I provide here. I encourage you to present him with an unfamiliar body part and get your own answers.

Wade and I had let the others speak first, so they could leave on their errand. By the time the DIY supplies had been purchased and returned to the garden, the weathered swordsman and I had concluded our business with Dionysius. Then Tegan Bramblerose led us all back to Amy. Mr. Granitbane carried the several hundred pounds of bundled metal fence-posts over his shoulder the whole way, as easily as I might have carried three or four broomsticks.

At our haven, Sean and Rai had returned with the majority of the vermicious k'nid's hide. The burn-scarred man was in the process of rolling the scaly sheet out flat in the clearing, under our oak's shading branches.

I took a quick shower and caught another quick nap. The rest of my cohorts either slept, drove metal posts into the ground, scraped k'nid hide for tanning, or whatever Raion-ju and Amaryllis did with their alone time. Then the Man of Steal and I headed back to Vegas together, since none of our other companions shared our interests regarding the concierge at the Pleasure Gardens of d'Or.

I covered Wade's bus fare in. He, in turn, paid for the concierge/guide we acquired at the Duchy d'Or's Gardens of Pleasure.

At the cordoned off concierge hillock of the mildly-psychedelically illuminated cave-garden, Iron Wade handled the transaction. I watch closely for the moment of completed deal making. Had I not been paying so close attention, I most certainly would have missed the ever so faint _twinge_ that happened, when my haggard companion handed over his hundred bucks. I would also have missed the slight muscle twitch, the normally implacable fencer, made. I suspected Wade had felt the odd binding sensation of a bargain struck much stronger than had I that time. I suspected that I had barely felt the sensation at all, because I was only peripherally connected to Mr. O'Steal's agreement. As intriguing as the new data seemed, it was still not enough to convince myself to try tackling the Law section of Ariadne's rare books for more details. I did consider asking our concierge lackey, though, if the opportunity arose.

She said to call herself Theresa and she had pale slightly-turquoise skin, large dark blue-black eyes, forest-green shoulder-length hair that would not dry, and gills. When Wade expressed an interest in seeing the City Below and learning more about it, Theresa's first question was "Would you like to swim there, or take the long way?"

After a quick sidelong glance between he and I, Wade declined the water route. So, we walked the long way. Which was just as well, as it also gave us the opportunity to ask more questions.

Xanadu functions as the seat of the King of the Red Court. The Queen presides in Red Rock Canyon. Our questions included how the court functioned: general politics, the relationship between d'Or and d'Argent, etc. We learned some of the methods and obligations of swearing fealty to the Red Court directly vs. one of the duchies. It would only cost you $25 to enter the Golden Duchy's Pleasure Gardens and another $100 to learn all the same details, if you truly want more specifics.

Xanadu was a wonderment. Theresa claimed not to know whether if the city was based on Coleridge's poem or vice versa. Nor did our amphibious guide know if the poet was spirit-touched.

The Xanadu of poetry is as much like the City Below as an artistic rendering can be. Key elements are clearly the same, but some artistic license was taken. While the cavern, deeper than the Pleasure Gardens, was too large to measure, I saw no sign of a sea. There was a river that flowed beneath the city, I presumed it to be called Alph, but was not sure if it was sacred after any fashion. The city itself could easily have been ten miles in diameter, considering how far we had to walk and how little we ultimately had time to see. However, Coleridge's "sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice" was better described as a bowl of crystals. From a distance the City of Xanadu looked like a cracked open geode with it's base centered over the dark churning river and it's ice-like crystals reaching sizes of almost three stories in places. The streets and foot paths seemed cobbled with glittery glass, but were merely worn down crystals, and they varied in width while jogging at odd angle to necessitate were the larger crystal structures had formed. Individual large crystals ranged in size from small sheds or bungalows to large townhouses or brownstones, all etched or drilled hollow to form rooms within. Large clusters of crystals had been formed into theaters and clubs, or the central crystals had been removed to make amphitheaters and arenas. As for "sunny" there was no sign. Some phosphorus lichen grew wild in the main cavern and was cultivated in placed throughout the city. Torches, lamps, candles, and the like were used in the dwellings whose translucent nature did cause a eerie glow that reflected off of the streets and other massive crystal high in the caverns ceiling. There was a fountain of sorts, that spewed regularly as if breathing. However the fountain was a twenty foot hole in the center of Xanadu through which the river below geysered high into the air. The more aquatic changelings (like Terrace) employed as a sort of elevator to and from the heart of town, the water shot up and two to three people stepped out while others stepped into the spout.

The poem's "fertile ground" and ""gardens bright with sinuous rills" must have indicated d'Or far above us, for Xanadu had few plants and they were all grown in pots and window boxes. As for "forests ancient as the hills" those—like the reference to sun—must either have been artistic license, or they were long gone. Much as I imagine was the Poet's "woman wailing for her demon-lover" and the Abyssinian harpist.

I will not try to match Coleridge for capturing the essence of the place with poetics. Though, it is a place to inspire just such grandeur: spectral, spectacular, and special. When Iron Wade expressed disappointment that the City Below was not like a renaissance fair version of a medieval castle, I almost wept.

Changelings came and went, worked and gamed, drank and talked, everywhere—as in any mortal city. The unique aspects, of course, stood out. The river below and it's geyser in the center of town. Challenges, fights, and competitions were everywhere. One elaborate pub quiz was being played for the deed to the pub it was in. No appreciable vehicles traveled in Xanadu, the 'streets' are far too narrow and irregular.

Sounds echoed and thrummed around the crystalline alleyways and cul-de-sacs, mostly music however, cheering, jeering, and the clash of weapons could also be heard from most corners. I suspect there must be some quiet places within Xanadu, I just did not find them on that trip.

Similarly the smells languidly roiled through the thoroughfares in slow, unseen clouds. Many enticing aromas of fresh breads, cooking meats, exotic spices, and flowery perfumes, met and wrestled with tobacco and other smokes, as well as blood and other body fluids, to create spontaneous pockets of surprising atmosphere. The only breeze came from the central geyser as it pushed or pulled air along with the thousands of gallons water from the river that was probably called Alph.

Like the air flow, the temperature was very consistent. Cool air in the cavern, around the edge of the City Below, and in the central areas with direct access to the "fountain". The other open spaces of Xanadu were warmer in proportion to the number of people in the area creating body heat. All the interior places Theresa took Wade and I were fairly crowded, thus often toasty to stifling warm.

My middle age compatriot and I spent several hours with Theresa. I would have preferred to stay the full twenty four. The gilled girl was politely straightforward and easy to listen to, while the subjects of our surrounding and the politics of the place were fascinating. However, I wanted to get paid for a Saturday night at Elements even more—If Fridays at the club were as profitable as the previous day, then Saturdays must be as good or better.

Wade insisted on returning to our haven with me. I thought he was foolish, since it was his money with which Theresa had been retained. It only occurs to me now that he may have been scared. Either to be alone, or that I might be unguarded… it could have been both.

I had been able to get the stoic panther-man to lead me once more from our oak to Sheaves & Leaves, where my Festiva awaited. Tegan had been thoroughly passed out from her days exertions. If Rai's cat-like nature made him less sociable, then at least, it also meant that he slept and woke at all hours.

I had been right about Elements. That one Saturday almost matched my earnings for the two prior days that I had worked that week. Thus, providing the seeds, that I may sew the field of my next goal's fruits. Two shelters, a vehicle, and a source of income were great starting points. Next I needed to secure my financial stability and start seriously looking into my other more long term goals.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

_ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa…_

_Snork, mph, rph… snooze…_

_ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa… ahhh…haaa…_

Day 13: Sunday, November 20th

I sighed disappointedly into the poorly lit empty room of the rental house. I really preferred my room at the oak-haven and lamented not having had the foresight to arrange for a guide back to Amy after my and Gavin's shifts at the night club. At least, misters the Man of Steal and Granitbane had already got up and left the unfurnished room that we three shared.

Of course, by the time I collapsed my mattress and packed the bed and bedding away into my Festiva, everyone else had finished using the bathroom. So, I had been left with no hot water when I showered. As soon as I realized that the water temperature would not improve, I expended some small amount of wyrd to enact the casting of Summer's Embrace. Thus, when I exited the bathroom and Tegan Bramblerose teasingly asked, "How was he water?", I was able to simply shrug and act as if I were to tough to notice the icy inconvenience.

The exchange made me happy. Not only because it countered the redhead's mischievous teasing, but also because it reinforced my choice not to share all the details of my glamorous secrets. I knew that Tegan and all of my other comrades had seen me disregarding the weather for the past couple of days, if they could not conclude that temperature could not effect me unless I wanted it to, then that was their own unobservant faults.

Although, since the secrets of Summer's Embrace was had been shared with me by Fire-Summer and I was apparently the only member of our little collective Grace by that humor, it may just be possible that the others were unable to know of choleric magics. Which I dismissed as unlikely, as I knew of the fair Bramblerose's healing breath glamour and felt certain that it was sanguine in origin.

There were fleeting thoughts as I was much more interested in the fact that most of my housemates were their at breakfast, in the first place. Not that I would give any of them the satisfaction of asking them outright. Gavin Granitbane made sense to me as we both worked at the same place last night. Even though I had not made any effort to find the big bodybuilder and get him to Elements, I did vaguely recall giving him a ride back to the rental place. I was pretty sure we even chatted about work, although I had started to only pay selective attention to my companions—what goes around comes around after all and the had ignored me a lot over the previous couple of weeks. I was still guessing at the presence of Iron Wade, Freerunner, the beauteous Bramblerose, and especially Raion-ju.

Some explanation came over Wade-made breakfast burritos, Tegan and Gavin reported that they, too, had been in Vegas the day before. Between the two of them the tale started and back tracked quite a bit and the rest of us had to keep interrupting to get clarifications. Eventually a few pieces of useful information were revealed. The ROTC-trained outdoors-woman and the weightlifter/fireman had gone to investigate the Duchy d'Argent at the Mirage casino-resort, their passes for the Golden Duchy of d'Or, were honored for access at the sister duchy, at no additional fee. The Silver Duchy is an open air sports arena with a similar selection of gaming to the Golden Duchy's Pleasure Gardens, although, d'Argent does also offer a significant number of fighting pits in which spirit-touched may participate, or wager.

"We watched one fight," the coarse red-orange muscle man said from his preferred spot, standing near the hallway entrance, "where an eight foot tall, lumpy, muscle guy beat the snot out of Nick." He gestured ceiling high with his own fairly lumpy hand.

"Who's Nick?" Wade, 'Runner, and I said, almost in unison and with the same level of resigned exasperation at having to figure out yet another piece of data.

"He's a fighter." Gavin offered unfazed by our frustration. "he's like part stag." He held an opened right hand to his head, thumb to forehead and pinky forward, "like a ten point rack." He dropped his hand to the plate in his left and scooped up his burrito. "And Tegan healed him."

"He had dislocated his shoulder." Tegan took over the narrative, shrugging her own flannel covered shoulders. "So, I offered to use my Breath of Comfort, in exchange for him answering some questions." She tipped her fresh-squeezed orange juice to her rose petal lips, then set the glass on the floor between her firm thighs for support. "Mostly, it was how the fighting pits worked. Like, anyone can fight anyone, as long as the fighters agree to terms. The fighters usually have a direct bet with each other and a proxy to bet for them with the spectators." She absentmindedly held one well manicured hand up and slowly flipped it from side, like a game show model displaying prizes. "Sometimes the duchy awards prizes as well, or offers purses to fight particularly well known fighters." The green eyed beauty stopped gesturing, lifted her burrito, took a bite, chewed, and went on—gesturing with the breakfast wrap. "To the death , or first blood, or surrender, or whatever is agreed to by the fighters before hand. But that is mostly like guidelines, since it is all real fighting and it is pretty hard to tell if a punch is going to just bruise or actually KO someone before throwing it." She shrugged and ate a little more. "Nickolas made it seem like the place was all about barter and betting, but he was focused on making money. There seemed to be some serious prestige to go with the really well known fighters."

"That's when I headed back here." Gavin shrugged his blocky shoulders. "I had to make my shift at Elements." His blue marble eyes may have narrowed at me briefly, before his squarish head nodded favorably to Rai.

So, the cat-man must just not have felt like making another trip through the Briar after getting Gavin to Athens. Thus verifying both of those two. I also eventually woke p enough to remember that Freerunner had probably been driving his hack most of the night and was just stopping in at the rental for a meal.

Tegan nodded causing her silky pony tail and bangs to bob, swallowed hard, and got a distant look in her large emerald eyes for a moment. "I stayed to try my skills with wyrd at poker."

I tried not to show my increased eagerness. My next personal plan involved doing much the same and I was happy to hear the lady had already done a beta test. I was confident that if I did expose my enthusiasm, then it would cause my ally to become even more coy with her results, just to toy with me.

Miss B took a breath, straining the buttons of her green and brown flannel, and straightened her shirt cuffs as she organized her thoughts. Tegan continued more methodically, laying out events in the order they occurred, "I was worried about upsetting the duchy by using my gifts there or in the Mirage. So, I went next door to Caesar's Palace… I found a poker table that didn't have any changelings. I didn't want to risk other changelings calling me out for cheating." She shrugged one shoulder. "Not that I know if they could tell what I was doing, or if it even would be considered cheating. Still, better safe than sorry, right? Anyway, I was pretty successful, mostly by simple suggestions and letting my scent do the work, but I used up some wyrd too."

Clearly the ravishing redhead had been coming to terms with her new life and figuring out details of her magical nature. I doubted Tegan had compiled as much data as myself, yet was extremely glad that someone that I had thrown my lot in with, had really started to deal with our situation. Based on what I knew of my own glamours—specifically the one I called Fairest Tongue in All the Land, which enhanced my social skills—and Tegan's own mischievous streak, distractible nature, and effortless appearance, I assumed she too had probably been forced to learn the secrets of Fairest Tongue. Which I expected would go a long way to helping a poker player mislead their opponents.

While I was indulging such musings, I also decided to assign the floral lady to one of the broad "families", or "genus" (I never excelled in biology), of spirit-touched that I had come across in my Sheaves & Leaves research. Where as my perpetual celestial-luminance glamour categorized me as a lumor, the fair Tegan Bramblerose had to be a bloomwell. Tegan's generally flowery aspects could have just been chalked up to having Donned the Cape of Spring, as the sanguine set often say. However, the hypnotic nature of the woman's aromatic aroma was something that bloomwell's specifically seemed to have in common. That fragrance would also make Tegan a force to be reckoned with in any competition or game that relied on clear judgment.

Furthermore, the few experimental observations in which I had been able to participate in those few days had convinced me that a bloomwell's intoxicating aroma could be resisted with some conscious effort. I suspected further resisting exposure to the same bloomwell, would allow greater immunity over time. Although, it was clear that regardless of familiarity, if one dose not think to actively resist the influence early in a bloomwell encounter, then there is little hope one will even notice the effects until after they wear off. I found myself looking forward to verifying that with both Tegan and Amaryllis.

I assumed that tales of dryads were, and sirens for that matter, were based upon them having bloomwell auras… Yet, I had not noticed the effect from Amy. Then again, my company had done the few things our dryad had ever asked—making her our haven, hunt the vermicious k'nid, and building a subterranean fence. So, yes, maybe Amaryllis did have the same bloomwell gift, only she employed it more judiciously.

I was brought out of my introspection as Tegan absentmindedly cupped the nape of her slender neck and gently rolled her head from side to side, as she continued her tale, "I caught the attention of a high roller. He was kind of cute and I figured why not have a little more fun. So, I accepted his invitation to see his executive suite."

As the bloomwell bombshell's audience were all men, there was a collect intake of breath through clenched teeth. The sound clearly meant, "that was a bad idea. I am a guy and I know what that guy was thinking. And a hot girl going to his suite alone with him was a bad idea for the girl." On the other hand, Tegan had made it to us to be relaying the story and she did not seem worse for wear.

I also privately filed away that Miss B had considered a man "cute". I personally may never have a shot with Tegan, however it was still nice to know that she was open to the idea of hooking up with men. On the other hand, I could not tell if the Spring-Wood Graced spirit-touched lady had just been experimenting with maximizing her target's lust to try and thresh a lot of wyrd all at once.

While the lady did roll her eyes at us, a delicate pink also blossomed on her cheeks.

Iron Wade, as subtle as ever, did wipe his mouth and ask "What were you thinking?"

Tegan could not quite explain what she was expecting, she just edged around the subject a little before getting back to her point. Since I had already guessed that the attractive woman might have been looking for a one night stand, I assumed the others had as well. I could not imagine why the emerald-eyed lass would be embarrassed to say so in front of the group, though.

"Anyway, the point is," Tegan got the story back on track, "we were at his room's wet bar and everything got weird." Her pouty velveteen-lips set firm and her crystalline-eyes became a bit more glossy. "I don't really know what set him off. I mean he was coming on kind of strong, but then… well it was like he was trying to make me act different with his words. Sort of like I do to others, only it did not affect me at all and he got pissed and changed."

Tegan drank some juice and smoothed her fine-hands along her legs. "His eyes started to glow red and he grew fangs and then he was trying to drink my blood."

"I knew it!" I jump to my feet in vindication and pointed, first at Tegan then around the room. "Vampires!"

"_Well_," Mr. Steal made a sit and relax patting gesture with both scarred hands, "we don't know that for sure, yet. It cou…"

Tegan shook her head, pony tail whipping back and forth like a flame in high winds, and cut Wade off with calm but firm words. "he was a vampire, no two ways about it. He called himself Reggie, well Archibald "Reggie" Reginald Venture specifically. And he claimed Caesar's was his. It was not clear whether he meant as owner, or just hunting grounds."

"So,…did he drink your blood?" Asked Gavin, somewhat meekly.

"Can erm he even urm drink your rrrmph blood?" Freerunner inquired, from the corner of the room where he had his legs curled beneath himself. "I urrum mean urm ain't your rrph blood more rrmm like sap?" His face was set in earnest concern, with no hint of mockery.

The svelt man's question seemed a bit personal to me. Although, it did show that my hirsute ally had also been paying attention to at least our bloomwell's fae nature. I wondered if something our Keepers had done to us had beaten such curiosity out of the more unfortunate looking changelings.

"I don't know." Snapped Tegan defensively to 'Runner. "And no," her tone and eyes softened slightly when she turned to Gavin, "he did not drink my blood."

The enchantress took another shirt stretching breath and refocused one more time. "He came at me and I countered. Some bottle got broke and a lamp. He was faster than he should have been, but my martial arts training and clear head… and his confusion at my clear headedness, kept us pretty equal. I was able to negotiate a limited truce and leave. But his pride was hurt and he's the type to hold a grudge. So, I don't think any of us should go into Caesar's.

Redcaps in Athens and vampires in Vegas: I was getting fed-up with bullies. I had more important things on which I wanted to concentrate, yet I could not risk these dangers causing me trouble when my plans got to more delicate stages. The others seemed to have similar thoughts, as the conversation quickly shifted over to discussing the frat-caps and their recent assault on Sean Tallwind.

I was the only one of us with a choleric humor to reinforce my outrage and desire to strike back. I only had a little sense of the more stereotypical inclinations of the other humors, yet none seemed particularly well known for facing challenges directly. So, I had been exceptionally pleased that it had been relatively easy for our collective to agree that Sean's battering could not go without retribution.

Even though, some of my companions felt that we were responsible for causing the 'caps to become so dangerous in the first place. When Gavin made that point for a third or fourth time, I could not stop myself from responding, "Let's face it, those redcaps were gearing up to greater and greater violence anyway." I pointed out of our still curtain-free picture-window. "Our neighbor Larry and what we saw in their garage should be proof enough of that. All we did, or Tallwind id, or whatever, was remove their stable base of operations."

In the end, whatever each person's reason, we all planned again to take the fight to the bloody-headed frat-holes more directly. Our expressed consensus was to drive the ogres away from Athens entirely. That was absolutely as far as 'Runner and I were willing to go. As furious as I had been, I was still not prepared to kill anyone. I had not completely gotten over my participation in the k'nid attack. Although, I had the feeling that, other than Freerunner, most of my allies did not share my reticence. Regardless of anyone's personal agendas, we hoped to set another ambush and actually follow through with it this time.

To set up an new ambush, though, required us to know where our quarry would be and when. I had some hope that we would find the 'caps one by one.

"So rmph, how do rrurr we find 'em rrirr anyway?" Freerunner garrumphed the question I had just been considering.

"Tallwind's supposed to be a detective, maybe we should go to the oak and ask him?" iron wade replied walking his dirty dishes to the kitchen.

"Sure…" I agreed half heartedly, I was not convinced of Sean Tallwind's claimed profession. After a pause for consideration, "How about this, what do we know about the redcaps, other than they're psychos and they lost their house?"

After a few minutes brainstorming we had a short list: had to get regular fresh blood for their hats, liked to act as a pack, heavy drinker, slovenly, and apparently irrationally desperate after the fire.

"Well, if they were going out and getting drunk so much," I observed, "they must have had a bar or liquor store they went to pretty regularly, right?"

"Pretty good, Tommy, that makes sense" Gavin nodded and pointed a squared of digit at me, then offered, "They probably made trouble anywhere they went, too. So, I can ask the other bouncers at Elements if they know anything, several of those guys work two or three different clubs."

"That's good." Tegan had been standing with her arms crossed, adding even more lift and compression to her breasts, she lifted one hand to tap a knuckle on her gently tapered chin and chewed on the right side of her plump lower lip. "I could probably talk to officer Braeden, he might have some more inside intel."

"Who's Braeden?" Wade beat me to the question.

Pretty Miss Bramblerose let out an exasperated sigh and rolled jewel green eyes. "He's the cop I convinced to let me in to see the victims that the redcaps hospitalized."

After a few more unnecessary questions, Tegan made it clear to all, that she intended to go on a coffee date or two with Officer Braeden and employ her Bloomwell "gifts" to draw police data regarding the case. Meanwhile, Iron Wade insisted that the recuperating Sean Tallwind would be of help in our investigations and the weatherworn fencer was able to get big Rai's attention long enough to secure an agreement to lead them both back to our haven to collect the would be detective.

As Raion-ju seemed interested in stalking through the Hedge, I offered to buy him lunch if he would meet me at Sheaves & Leaves around noon. I felt the now familiar _hum-tug_ settle in my chest and saw a spark in the big guy's cat eyes that reassured me he intended to follow through, not just forget about me and take a nap or something.

Since Russel, our supposedly most computer savvy member, had made himself unavailable—and none of our collective were willing to ask Amy to release the cloud-head from his pod based time out—'Runner and I volunteered to spend time each day searching and compiling data via the internet. Our group theorized/hoped for news articles or police bulletins, that were distinctly redcap in description. My wily whiskered research partner had acquired a secondhand laptop at some point. I, sadly, would be relegated to the public library, again. My need for a smart phone, or laptop of my own, was rapidly moving up my priorities list.

I spent a couple of hours, right after breakfast, in the Athens Public Library devoted to studying current reports of vandalizations, assaults, missing persons, and missing pets. I failed to identify any connections to the psycho frat monsters. Then I looked into various Las Vegas casino websites for a while.

As I had sat in the library, reviewing motes and laying out a course of action for my day's goals, I came to the conclusion that working the early shift at Elements just was not going to be convenient for me. So, when I got back to my black Festiva I called my fellow bartender Justin. Elements had other mixologists with less experience than Just, however Chris was the only other one that I had met and we had barely had the chance to speak.

I knew going into the conversation that Justin was not going to want to switch schedules with me, so I pumped as much wyrd into service as I could. I knew that my glamours could not traverse the telephone signals, therefore I had them effect my own voice and thoughts. First I increased my overall suave and ability to deceive with Fairest Tongue, which only had limited effectiveness until I could re-learn more of the secrets to the charm. So, I also placed a Fortunes Favor on my attempt to successfully swap shifts with Justin for the day. Again I could only employ a little of this glamour, in this case because of esoteric rules the Gyr seemed to enforce, if I "misused" my luck magics they would backfire on me. Had I been face to face with the man I would also have hit him with a little Foul Fortune to resist my wiles.

As it was I did not need the extra bit of Justin's ill luck. I am normally a poor to terrible liar, yet my wyrd boosted brain came up with a simple "my brother has been in a car wreck and I need to get to a hospital in Columbus" fib and my charmed mouth made it sound real. At least it was real enough that Justin agreed to switch shifts, so that I would work closing again that night. And if my brother was real bad off I was to call Justin and have him work a double.

I set an alert reminder in my phone to make sure I made my new shift at Elements. I also made a note in my book that my brother will have been very lucky and only have a broken arm and some cracked ribs. I was not sure how long I was ultimately going to need the Elements job, so I did not want to burn any bridges if I could avoid it. Gavin Justin work a double would generate resentment, even if I could keep the lie straight in the long run, which was unlikely given my still somewhat fuddled mind. Also if my brother's fictitious injuries were more sever I would be expected to remember to worry and talk about him more.

Before heading to lunch, my note review session had also reminded me to, stop and make some fairly mundane purchases at a couple of stores. Then parked once more before Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves.

I paid Rosa of the little horns and diamond tattooed face for three of Ariadne's lunch specials. In addition to how great the food portions and tastes were, I deeply appreciated that the antique furnished tea shop/book store also seemed to maintain prices from shortly after World War II. Rosa kindly provided me with a basket, so that I was able to carry the meal out to the Victorian garden.

In the garden I met Rai and fulfilled my half of our little bargain by eating one of the lunches myself and giving him the other two. the _gnut-muh_ unspooling sensation that I felt was light and brief, yet remarkably fulfilling. We two picnicked in silence in the crisp air, under the cloud covered sky. My companion finished both of his meals and did so before I completed mine. Then the panther-like man led me back to our oaken home.

As always the Inbetween place was shrouded in gloom and filled with unsettling sounds and smells. I stayed as close to Rai as I could, considering his predatory grace as he moved almost like water through the vines and thorns. I felt confident nothing would be so foolish as to attack the prowling pile of sinew, I just was not confident that Raion-ju would notice, or care, if I were picked off by something clever enough to snatch me from behind.

From the haven of Amy majestic tree, I headed into Las Vegas on my own. I struck to light one of the new wooden and water-proofed camping matches that I had purchased prior to lunch, spit the tiny flare out, and glamoured myself into another Summer's Embrace for my hike through sunny Red Rock Canyon. I almost tossed the spent match aside, then worried it may lead some nosy changeling to our niche-portal, so I replaced it with its unused brethren. Then I enjoyed the peace of solitude in nature.

I reflected on how little privacy I had really experience since waking as a free and addled spirit-touched. I decided that the quite was soothing, while the feeling of exposure was something I would rather do without.

However, I wanted to test my success with some gambling and glamour use in Sin City. And I _really_ did not want any of my haven-mates making any unsolicited observations about my actions. Wade's earlier blab about my slot machine winnings and Tegan's volunteering I spend the money on the group had been bad enough once. I saw that I would not be able to build a proper savings with any of them hovering nearby. Plus, I did not like the added risk a so called ally represented, when I could not be certain that they would not say something that would draw the attention of casino security. For all I knew every resort employed spirit-touched specifically to track other spirit-touched, after all. Not to mention that, if I failed, then I would rather no-one I knew actually see that either.

Before gambling, I stopped in to see concierge Theresa. The Man of Steal had paid for twenty-four hours of concierge service the night before and I was not going to let it go to waste, even if he was. Also, it had been the final day of my three day pass to the Golden Duchy, so I wanted to make sure I saw as much of the Pleasure Gardens as I could, just in case I chose not to renew my pass for a while.

The semi-aquatic service specialist provided an early high-tea and some more specific details to the previous days sight seeing tour. Theresa did not spend much time in the casinos of Vegas Above, yet she was able to verify some of the information I had researched.

I knew, from my Athens Library internet access, which resorts were affiliated for membership gambling packages and perks. I had selected the MGM family of casinos Mlife membership club, for two reasons. Most importantly, both Mandalay Bay and the Mirage were part of that association. Secondarily, I wanted to make sure to not be involved with anything connected to Caesar's Palace, until I was ready to go in and cause them some sort of trouble. At the time, I had visions of becoming an unbeatable magical gambling master that would wield the power to cripple any casinos bank. So, my alias, Thomas White signed up for an Mlife card at the Mandalay Bay customer service desk.

I then started my gambling at the Luxor. There is a connected mall, Mandalay Place, between the black pyramid and the 'Bay. So, if I needed to bolt to the Gardens of Pleasure, I had a relatively easy route. Yet, Luxor was not Mandalay Bay, in case I did accidentally cause some sort of offense, I was not on Red Court turf. I made a note that, if Dark Sol ever returned from her dalliance with Spring-Heeled Jack, I should recommend the Luxor to her, most of it is almost as dark as a place can be and still have anything that can be called lighting.

123

The gambling went as I had expected at the Luxor. I, of course, used both of my probability altering glamours as I played poker. I decided early employ Fairest Tongue to take on a persona at the card tables, one in which I kept up a near endless steam of chatter (I pretended I was Gavin), to try and influence the other players. Even if that influence was to irritate other gamblers, then they might make more mistakes and I could recoup some of the wyrd I was spending on glamour. I had not learned, or remembered, any tricks to casting either of the Fortune glamour free of wyrd.

Fairest Tongue was truly an all around social charm so it also helped me "read" the other players as I chatted. So that when I was in a large pot I would better know when to either boost my luck or douse my opponent's. In the hour, or so, that I spent playing Texas Hold'em at the twenty-five-dollar buy In table, I probably lost, or folded, many more hands than I won. However, the pots I did win were big enough to award me a nice overall profit.

I left some of that profit in a slot machine on my way out of the casino. Mlife membership provided multiple ways to gain comps and bonuses, at the time I had thought the slots offered an additional level of Mlife perks, that the table gaming did not. I knew from my grandfather that, if you belong to one of these so called clubs and fed enough money through them, then the casinos start offering some pretty nice freebies.

Playing poker had an additional thrill, beyond just successfully experimenting with my glamours and winnowing rage-fantasies. Every hand dealt was like the start of an agreement between all of the players to do their best to win the pot and each round of betting was like little promises of telling each other you had the best hand. It resulted in a crackling-twanging symphony of sensation passing through me to grip and release the area within my chest. At first I had worried that I would not be able to bluff or fold without becoming an oathbreaker, however, I knew from my research that the Gyr graded such matters on a sliding scale, and risked a few small bluffs and withdraws. In turned out that true gambling held a special place within the all pervasive Gyr, so that the necessities of betting still caused similar sensations to making vows, yet did not hold quite the same consequences.

When I took the time later to mill the issue over, I concluded that the agreements within a poker game, or the like, were entered into with the expectation of participants lying and backing out to a certain degree. Effectively, as long as bluffing was part of the rules of the game, then the Gyr allowed for it. It left me wondering how out right cheating, like with a stacked deck, might effect a spirit-touched. I suspected that I would be best off not to test that particular aspect of gambling myself, though.

I had to wait until after the sun set, before I could try again. As I mentioned earlier, the Gyr was especially sensitive to the glamours that shifted fate. So, I had to track carefully the precise sorts of fortunes I tweaked and when. The Gyr tended to be more forgiving of Foul Fortune, thus allowing me to generally use it more often. Fortune's Favor, on the other hand, could only safely be used for any particular type of luck enhancement once, then I had to wait for the sun to rise or set before calling on the same type of luck.

So, I left the Luxor and walked as leisurely as possible through the constant roiling mass of humanity along Las Vegas Boulevard. I headed into the Excalibur casino and had dinner at the buffet. I sampled most of the fare on offer and found a reasonable number of dishes that were not too befouled with chemical additives and preservatives.

I had made note of the sunset times earlier and used my phone's clock to verify when it was at least fifteen minutes past when the nightfall. Then I repeated my methods at one of Excalibur's hundred dollar buy in Hold'em tables.

Those poker profits were exceptional, there had been a couple of guys that simply could not accept the idea that anyone might be better than them at poker, especially a motor-mouth kid in Old Navy attire like me, and that made it real easy to inflate the pots. I was then pleasantly surprised to broke even at the slots, as I did not bother with glamouring the machines. At the time I would simply put in a specific percentage of my initial stake for the day and spin the slots for no more than fifteen or twenty minutes. I figured that whatever I lost was a sort of tithe to the casino and a way to make me look less suspicious to any security personal tracking my winnings. I also selected poker tables without other obvious spirit-touched for similar reasons.

Better than breaking even on the one-armed bandits, I had bet enough money for my Mlife membership kicked in and I a lovely casino representative approached me and offered two free tickets to Excalibur's live joust/dinner show. The tickets expired in a week, so I either needed to make time to go, or trade them in somewhere. I had been interested in going, yet did not want to deal with deciding on a time or whom to take while also worried about redcaps and vampires and my fetch-imposter and so forth.

As an additional bonus, my Mlife card functioned as a limited debit line. So, it became a secure electronic way to store a fair amount of my new source of income. I had been concerned that the shadow-eater thing that had worn my face and claimed my name might be trying to locate the money I had liberated from my Huntington Bank account. So, even if that Fetch-Tom were able to track down the wire transfer to the fictitious Thomas White, he would still be hard pressed to find the secure Mlife funds.

Even with my cell phone's reminder, I barely made it to Elements in time. I would have to try and remember that the three hour time difference between Nevada and Ohio only worked in my favor one way, as well as that the bus ride to Red Rock and the hiking through both the State Park and the Briar tended to eat up more than a fair share of time. Even more so, when I had to wait at our haven for Tegan or Rai (he pretty lady, on this occasion) to show up and then I had to spend more time convincing her to walk me through the ominous nighttime Edge Maze.

I started to seriously consider trying to make my own way through the Briar. However, I knew that my hourglass-athletic guide cloud use her glamour to find the safest and shortest path. On my own, especially in the pitch dark, would be lucky to find my way at all. Even so, I added "learn to find my own way to and from the oak" to my list of goals.

I thanked Justin effusively for covering my shift and handed him the new Kendrick Lamar CD. I had overheard Justin saying that he wanted the disc the night before while he was chatting to with a customer, so I bought it earlier in anticipation of thanking him for the favor. I realized that the bartender might have just been trying to make points with the pretty patron, of course, however he seemed genuinely grateful for my consideration.

That Sunday as slow as my first trial-night at Elements a week earlier. So, I knew tips would be minimal, plus thanks to Sin City I was not as desperate for them. Therefore, I had some fun threshing some wyrd from customers. I had a shouting match with one guy. Then, later, two drunk girls actually scrambled over the bar and one came at me with a vodka bottle. I dodged the assault. In the end I was wyrd rich, yet pay poor.

Honestly, with my success in Vegas I had planned to quit bartending soon anyway. However, as long as my haven-mates and I needed to find the redcaps, Elements was a good source of gossip, so I tried to avoid getting straight-up fired.

In fact, I even pick up some clues to the 'caps modus operandi. Some preppy frat guys had commiserated about being hassled by a jock gang (they all wore Cincinnati Reds caps) at other clubs, as well as a story about one of their friends having been jumped and beaten in an alley when leaving O'Malley's just the other night.

Gavin, however, had even greater success from talking with the other bouncers. The stony fellow shared what he learned with me, as I drove us home, then again with the rest of our companions as he encountered them.

"So, yeah, I was right. Benny works the door at a couple of other places and so does Craig." The block shaped man said from my passenger seat. "They said they regularly have trouble with a particular group of frat guys… the facial descriptions were just normal, no sharpened teeth or nothin', but everything else seemed to match with our quarry. I mean they said they all wore Reds' ball caps, but that's probably just whatever magic hides us hiding them too."

My coworker and I lucked out and Raion-ju had answered his phone, then agreed to lead us back to our oak tree. So, I parked once more at Sheaves & Leaves and moved through the store's eerie after hours interior as swiftly as I could. Then I made certain to stay between Rai and Gavin Granitbane as we trudged once more through the now frost-coated blackness of the chokingly thick foliage Between. The sounds of distant and not distant enough creaks, moans, and skitters and metallic smells that I associated with blood, had me fairly riled up by the time we reached Amy's haven. Although, the short trip up to my room, pajamas, and comfy bed had me relaxed enough to sleep quick and easy.


	15. Chapter 15

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

You're sitting and waiting in the bucket seat. Bored and waiting and buckled in. Your comic book is out of reach on the floor and you can't quite see over the door and out the window. Looking is just sky. There's probably some really cool cars park right next to you, something sleek and racy. Not like the boring Festiva you're in.

You kick your feet for something to do. You could unbuckle the seatbelt and reach down for your comic, or stand on the seat and look around, but mom would be back soon and you would just have to buckle up again anyway… Oh, but now the car is moving again. Mom must have got in while you were daydreaming.

No, wait, mom's not back. The driver's seat is empty. The car is moving though, piles and truck sides keep passing by the windows. You push up with your arms to strain against the seatbelt and see if the car will roll into the curb… Only there is no curb. There's road and traffic. Your car is driving down the freeway and somehow your in the passenger seat.

You reach over and grab the steering wheel, but can't work your seatbelt with just one hand. The car seems to be on cruise control, but you really need to stop and switch seats. You try and reach your long adolescent leg over the dividing hump and cup holders. Twist to watch road and steer and twist different and stretch leg and grope for belt release and, and, and…

Day 14: Monday, November 21st

I woke leisurely and sluggish. I had felt like I knight have been dreaming, something about my mother being a racecar driver of something, yet I could not piece together any specifics. I went through my morning ablutions on auto-pilot trying to remember the nocturnal imagery, or even how I felt about it. I had to settle for feeling rested with a slight nagging sense of incomplete action. "At least," I told myself, "you should be able to get over that easy enough. Just complete a goal or two."

I finally came out of my mild funk at breakfast. Amy provided ma a cheese-less omelet full of vegetables. It had taken the generally hospitable dryad a few days longer than I expected to get the eggs, even so the nearly-an-omelet had been welcome, all they same. Especially, when I noticed that I was the only diner around the large almost circular oak-table with an omelet, my associates were being served equally lovely looking toasty-brown griddle cakes with berry compote and syrup. I chose not to draw attention to my special treatment and made a note to ask Amy about it later.

Seven of us were positioned around the large dining table, that seemed to have been made from a single horizontal cross-section of a massive oak tree's trunk, its concentric rings polished to a glossy finish. Each of our part sat in our matching simple and sturdy oak chairs. I had my back to the kitchen area with its clay oven and stove top to one side of a counter large enough for a side of beef and the wooden ice box to the other. The also clay-like Gavin Granitbane sat to my left and to his left an empty chair sat in the shadowy space in the dining room. Then came Raion-ju's looming mass actually casting the majority of shadow on Dark Sol's empty seat. Next sat Iron Wade the Man of Steal, looking worn and flexing the tiny pale scars along his fingers and forearms whenever he was not using his hands to eat. To Wade's left and under the room's round window, Tegan Bramblerose sat silhouetted by the morning sun streaming in behind her and causing the loose waves of her auburn-hair to blaze a silky halo around her head. Another empty chair sat between Tegan and Sean Tallwind, where Russel would have tried to sit had he not been hanging within a pod from a branch outside. Then, of course, Sean burn-scarred, wrinkled, and grey sat, once again looking healthy—at least as healthy as I think he was ever able. In the final chair, the hairy, swimmer's body of Freerunner hunched over his plate.

The rustic table had space enough for ten settings, yet only nine chairs. To my right and 'Runner's left the space was allotted for Amaryllis. The peppy tree-lass rarely joined us for meals and when she did she simply melded through the floor to "stand" at the appropriate eye level for the table.

Our seats are not assigned per se, thus whatever the most in shadow chair happened to be at a particular meal, then it was designated as Sol's and was occupied only slightly more often than Elijah's. So, when I mentioned that Russ would have "tried" for the seat next to Tegan, I meant that I would have taken it first—as much to be next to the auburn and emerald beauty as to deny the cloud-haired Russel. I did not exactly know why, however a deep part of me wanted to cause that man inconvenience at every turn—certainly his leering looks and tendency to mooch were significant factors. In truth, I was disappointed that the seat I did choose that day left Tegan's heart-shaped face so heavily shadowed, although I could look past her through the window to see Russel's leafy chamber swaying gently in the autumnal breeze, so there was still a pleasant view.

I could not tell if Mr. Tallwind's health had improved more through resting, or doing a project that spoke to some inner need. The gruff man had been spending most every moment tending the vermicious k'nid hide, first cleaning and then tanning. A couple of our companions had suggested that the scaly hide could just be left to cure unattended, to which Sean would snort, "Yeah, if you're willing to settle."

That breakfast story time centered around each of our various redcap gossip—Gavin's insights where corroborated, yet nothing more useful had been discovered.

I was not quite ready to discus my "alone time" in Vegas. Partially to keep my winnings to myself. Partially because I wanted to experiment a little more before reporting any conclusions. Although, mostly because my allies had so almost universally ignored my news—personal, or otherwise—since we had started to regularly dine together. Tegan always seemed to be able to pay attention to everyone and I had come to realize that 'Runner generally listened as well, yet all the rest pretty much just lived in their own heads at their own speeds.

Wade did strike up a side conversation in which he tried to convince the two muscle men, Gavin and Rai, to enter the fighting pits at the Duchy d'Argent, Iron Wade seemed confident that they could work out some sort of winning strategy with him as coach/manager. The fireman-turned-bouncer expressed interest, while Rai's cat-ears may have twitched without giving any other indication of having even heard anyone speaking.

I wondered why a fencing instructor like Wade would not just step into the pits himself. Since Tegan and Gavin had made it clear the fighters set the rules for their fights, I was sure that Wade could have found someone willing to let him use his saber. On the other hand, I did agree with the "get someone else to do the dangerous part" approach. Either way, I had been glad to see that ay least one more of my commune had started to be able to think ahead, more than their next action, as well as incorporating more than one imagined action into that future.

As for the redcap portion of all of our mutual futures, we agreed that we still obviously needed more information. The self-proclaimed private eye, Mr. Tallwind, would only say, "I've got some ideas", when prompted for investigation directions. I kept my snort and eye-roll to myself, for that was exactly what I had expected to hear from the moment Wade had started advocating for the wrinkle-bag.

Tegan and Rai led the seven of us out to Ariadne's. Amy had been pouty and fretful that we were all leaving, until I insisted, 'If something really does go wrong, then release the guy in the pod and make him redeem himself." Once back at the Briar-side garden, our two pathfinder-guides volunteered/agreed to stay at, or near, Sheaves & Leaves for the day, just in case any of us needed to get back to our haven in a hurry. I got the impression that the voluptuous Miss Bramblerose was also worried about leaving Amy effectively assistance and she would most likely step into the Thorny edge from time to time, so that the dryad could send a root-based distress call if needs be.

I privately vowed that if neither the prowling cat-man, nor the agile ROTC girl were at Ariadne's garden when I did want to return to our oak, then I would bite the bullet and try to make it on my own. I figured if I traveled alone a couple of times, I would get over some of the fear of the Maze. Plus, all of us had been making the journey a lot in the last few days and no impossible danger had arisen.

Meanwhile, the remaining five of us would go about our various methods of trying to track down the frat-caps. I assumed that, at least, Tegan would also chat with fellow rare books members and possibly learn more about the bloody-headed ogres in town.

At the library (again), I researched the bars that Gavin had heard about as possible redcap hangouts. I also tried to work up a profile of likely other locations and an estimate of the 'caps typical patterns of attendance. My results were lackluster at best, I should have left the profiling to our once-upon-a-time PI, Sean Tallwind. Even if the long-fingered fellow was not a real detective, he still would have done better than me with my Mrs. Marple and Hercule Poirotonly, level of training.

I returned empty handed, as it were to the spirit-touched book and tea distributer. Raion-ju was in the garden, stretched out on the grass, napping in the sun. So, no solo hiking through the mystic Wilder-Woods for me, yet.

The dark forest had seemed slightly lighter than usual, with more dead leaves on the ground. My guide made almost noise, while I crackled and rustled leaves with every step. I remember thinking that the earthy-compost-y smell seemed too strong for the leaves that seemed so recently fallen. Yet, almost before I knew it Rai padded into Amy's clearing, once more.

The oak looked like it was wearing a jaunty little cape. Sean had scraped the k'nid hide clean, applied whatever tanner's apply, and stretched it across some of Amy's outer branches to finish cure in the air and sun.

I took a short nap to try and make up for some of those far too long days I had been experiencing. Then I used the time zone deferential to my advantage and returned to Las Vegas to checked out the gambling vibe at two more casinos. Unlike my groups first excursion into Sin City, I was now focusing on determining specifics of the poker tables rather than general casino friendliness. So, I took my time in each place, assessing the number of Changelings, making note of how many poker tables and what stakes were available, noise qualities, and so on. I spent an hour or two in each casino, doing similar things as I had at Luxor and Excalibur the day before—winnowed as much wyrd as I could (as inconspicuously as possible), played Texas Hold'em, and fed a few slot machines.

I had the unsettling realization at one point that my Mlife card effectively tracked my movements. After some consideration I decided that the type if people I was worried about stalking me, would be unlikely to have access to Mlife's data base. Also, even though my actions could easily be identified as methodical, I did them in differing locales. Plus, the types of people and things I was concerned about were likely to be territorial, so by not staying in any one location too long I guessed I would be fine.

My previous day's success allowed me to step up from $100 to $1000 buy-in tables for 'Hold'em. Before sunset, I went to New York, New York and after nightfall the MGM Grand. Both proved a little harder; gamblers at that level are much more skilled at obscuring and hiding tells, as well as more resistant to my goading. However, I was still much more successful than I had expected to be overall. Excalibur had won out on percentages, however the larger bets at these two casinos made for greater actual payouts. Then I broke even at the NYNY slots and forgot to play at MGM. By then I was fairly giddy and distracted with visions of all of the material goods in which I intended to indulge myself.

I was also given comps at both casinos. One of them was a buy-2-nights-get-1-free room at New York, New York. The other was a straight up free night at MGM. Plus, MGM gave me two passes for a day at their Ultra-pool. The chichi swimming pool/night club sounded way more appealing than a jousting show, yet I doubted I could fit in at the fancy European-style pool-lounge. The passer were worth about $100 though, so someone was likely to trade me something for them.

With no shift at Elements until Wednesday, I took my time getting home. If I could consistently use my glamours to win this much money, then I probably would be quitting the Athens club much sooner than I had originally expected. I swung by the Shark Reef Aquarium. There was a cashier that I had not seen before, when I went to purchase a new pass to the Golden Duchy—her name tag read Pashmi.

Pashmi of midnight blue hair, coppery red skin, and tattoos of gold on her hands. The exotic beauty stood around five-foot tall, maybe five-one, with almond shaped eyes, round nose, and plush lips.

I tried to get the sexy ticket seller to take my complimentary Ultra-pool tickets in lieu of payment for a one month backstage pass.

"I'd be happy to go," Pashmi smiled slightly crooked teeth, "but that doesn't pay for your pass."

Gambling must relax me. I only hesitated a second, "So, when's your day off?" Normally, I would either have missed that chance she had offered, or been to nervous to say anything at all.

"Today is usually my day off." She lowered her large dark eyes and pouted mildly disappointed.

I fretted the tickets would expire before this lovely lady would be available. Then I resolved to just buy more tickets if I had to.

"So," Pashmi continued in a voice free of accent, yet full of velvety warmth, "I have tomorrow and Wednesday off this week."

I beamed as the _thrum-zing_ sensation tingled through my body. I could get addicted to making deals of this nature. Then made arrangements to meet her in the morning. I did worry a little when I remembered that the pool ticket specified "fashionable swimwear" and I had no idea what that was, nor any swimwear in my wardrobe for that matter. I decided to go for full disclosure… well, closer to full than empty disclosure, and asked Pashmi, "So, ah, the thing is, I'm not clear on what counts as fashionable swimwear these days." I rubbed the back of my neck and looked a little embarrassed. "Would you mind helping me shop for some before heading to the pool?"

Pashmi's eyes, irises of slowly churning dark purples and greys, smiled and I could tell she was keeping her other features neutral with some effort. "Absolutely, we can swing by the mall."

I blinked, "The mall? Not the stores at the casino?"

"No," She shook her head and her glossy blue-black braids shimmered, "The boutiques are all way over priced."

The binding _twinge-tug_ of the deal wove itself as of wind and whispers into the earlier sensation of promises struck, settled into my chest like harp strings still vibrating. The overall sensation was the most invigorating of those types of feelings thus far, with my related sense of obligation as thrilling to anticipate as my reward. Yet, something different weighed upon me. This had been the first time, since I became aware of my link to the Gyr that I felt some regret. Unlike my other dealings, I did not like that the mystical force impose some compulsion to fulfill the agreement. I would have much preferred that my dating could be completed with no strings attached for either me or Pashmi.

In any case, since d'Or would not accept my Ultra-pool passes in lieu of payment, then at least taking Pashmi to Ultra-pool was a great second choice. Plus, it seemed like the ticket seller was not getting kick-backs from the casino, so Pashmi was even more likely to actually be interested in me. It was enough to make me consider that my luck may not be as glamour-dependent as I had thought. Theoretically my elfin looks helped too, although I still had difficulty time from having a fairly strong self image of being a rather gawky mortal.

So, I went ahead and purchased the $150 thirty day pass to the Duchy of Gold. I knew I would be coming back often enough, even if I was not certain that I wanted to swear fealty to the Duchy or its parent court. Of course, if my date with Pashmi went well I would be even more inclined to spend even more time in the Court of the Western Territories.

Then I descended to the caverns of the Pleasure Gardens and found a fae cashier to convert some of my US currency into spirit-touched tender. In this case I selected gold coins, artfully worked into a substantial leather bracelets—with a little manipulation any one coin could be removed for use as money. I started with five $100 coins, most of the rest of my winning were added to my Mlife account.

The precious metal and leather were as real as any other almost pure gold jewelry, so my Masque would not disguise the bracelet any more than it altered the appearance of my blue-jeans. So, I would have to start watching out for potential pickpockets. On the other hand, a piece of pricy jewelry might help convince people I was a hipster wearing low end Old Navy outfits as an ironic statement; an asinine concept, however I was willing to try and make it work in my favor.

I also considered getting a fancy room and staying the night in Sin City, yet I decided that the unnecessary expense was foolish. I had a lot of money now, but knew too well that it may all go away at any moment. So, I took the bus to Red Rock Canyon and made notes about how I might safe guard my new wealth, even if bad things were to happen.

Then I hiked through the star-lit desert to the boulder that concealed the portal back to Amy's oak. I realized that this was the second or third time that I had made the journey by night and even with my faery-luminance I was hard pressed to identify any of the landmarks that I had originally noted for finding my way. That is when my day got even better as I became aware of the fact that I could always find my haven. By just thinking about finding my way home, the unique _hum-huzz_ that I held near my heart and represented my alliance to Amaryllis, _thrummed_ a little deeper when I was walking the right way.

I smiled at myself, walking through the frigid desert night in nothing but a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, protected by a magic born of spitting out a lit match. Even though my lumor-light did not help find my destination, I still kept it bright, lest I loose my footing on some rock or hole. I also frowned a little, realizing my only footwear were Dock Martin hiking boots. Fine footwear to be sure, yet that might cause a bad impression on my date… I shrugged the concern off as Pashmi had already agreed to help me shop for better attire. Besides the exotic lady had already seen how I dressed. I then spent a lot of time calculating how much I would be willing to spend to own and park a car in Vegas.

I spent my whole hike to the oak and most of my time trying to fall asleep with, thoughts of Pashmi in varying degrees of the fore or back of my mind. I kept myself grounded by trying to remind myself that the golden tattooed woman may be as dangerous as any other changeling. Even though I did not feel the full seven years that I had been away from the Mortal World, it had still been a long time since my last date, though. So, the idea that Pashmi represented some danger was not as much of a cooling effect as I had planned for it to be.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

muzzzy, lazzzy, hazzzy, gauzzzy, fuzzzzy, drowzzy, cozzzy…

Day 15: Tuesday, November 22nd

I lay in my snug bed of oak and down, watching the grey-blue-pink pre-sunrise light creep along the polished oak wall of my room. It took me a long time to accept that it was Tuesday morning. It had been the first Monday night that did not startle me awake at 3:00 am with dreamembering too vivid to sleep through. So, I felt lighter, as if I had slipped on the edge of a chasm, yet had caught myself and moved away safely. I had still awoke early though, thanks to thoughts of my date a few hours hence. My eager anticipation of Pashmi's company, also made me feel buoyant.

As yet another elating reward for not sleeping in, I had been up early enough that I did not have to wait for the oak's full bath. I have no idea how Amy, or the magic that bound the haven, managed hot and cold running water, yet we had it from ceramic taps and spouts in the kitchen, full bath, half bath, and the whirlpool style hot tub in the basement/trunk. I had not yet taken the time to enjoy the whirlpool, it looked like an old wood-plank water tower had been installed and modified with steps and benches, also it was probably big enough to hold our group's seven smaller members all at once—Gavin or Rai would certainly count as two people each.

The half bath was more of an indoor outhouse, only fancier than that sounds. Exceptionally clean and polished, with a "sink" that was a big blue-grey ceramic basin, and the toilet had a matching ceramic seat and lid. Otherwise, the toilet seemed to be a simple box and the sink-bowl sat on a grate. Yet, the basin had a couple of grey-blue ceramic pipes with butterfly valves over it and the commode seemed to have an automatic flushing mechanism. No mirror, although hand towels and toilet paper always seemed to be freshly stocked. The real selling point on the outhouse vibe, though, was the room's only small window of frosted glass in the shape of a crescent.

However, I personally enjoyed the odd wonderment of our full bath, more than the half. Spacious for a bathroom with walls, floors, and ceiling of dark oil-sealed oak. The walls are composed of dozens and dozens of small shelves and pegs. Easily two-thirds of the shelves held small candles, sometimes in glass or crystal votives, or globes. Some of the shelves, especially around the sink and tub, held small jars and bottles that contained soaps, oils, and powders. There are narrow block glass windows high in two of the walls. The commode is mostly wood carved to look like throne from a medieval fantasy, whose padded-leather seat lifts to reveal another porcelain rim around a deep dark hole. The toilet paper, on a convenient peg, is clearly made of pressed together leaves (same as the half-bath).

The sink is a cream colored enamel and appears to be set into a large version of the many shelves in the room. One of the rare pieces of metal in our haven, is the small polished tin mirror above the sink, barely the size of a sheet of paper, frameless, and held in place by wooden pegs. An array of nine wood handled toothbrushes, hair brushes, cups, and other grooming implements are within easy reach on the wall, although Amy provided no razors or scissors. Nine sets of towels and wash cloths are also hung from pegs at appropriate places. While, I believe, these linens to be made from hemp, or some other commonly coarse fiber, the ones that Amy provides are much softer than I would have predicted.

Our actual bathing area is possibly the most unusual aspect of the room. A large lacquered dividing screen, folds in and out from a smaller recess, when fully open it completely encloses the tub with only a few inches open at the top. The decorative screen depicts dark and foreboding forest scenes when viewed from the sink or toilet, from the bathtub the imagery was brightly colored glades. A large enameled claw-foot tub, in the same warm cream color as the sink, rested in an alcove under one strip of windows. There were antique looking ceramic taps and spout, also cream. However there was no shower spout or head, instead a few of the ubiquitous shelves protruded and slope out over the tub, they were empty with holes in the wall where they attached. When the bathtub's spout was plugged, water would pour through the holes and down the shelves, creating a much more realistic waterfall effect than any mundane commercial shower head might promise.

For having claimed the full bath so early, I had been able to take an uninterrupted shower. As my other haven-mates awoke, they would use the main floor toilet and wait their turn for the actual bath. And best of all, Amaryllis never seemed to run out of hot water, even though it also never seemed to get much hotter than body temperature.

At breakfast share-time and war room, our gang again attempted to sketch out more of a detailed plan of attack against the redcaps. Sean Tallwind favored indirect actions like setting traps, while Gavin Granitbane hated Sean's ideas and wanted a direct assault, the rest of us voiced opinions that fell on a spectrum between the two. We again settled on laying in wait and calling the frat-caps out into an ambush.

I was in a better place mentally than I had been since becoming entangled with this group of people, so I let the seemingly endless repetition wash by me. I did wonder if my allies each always felt as if they were in a constant state f déjà vu. The only incrementally different thing our "planning" had seemed to accomplish was the idea that we would call the 'caps to us rather than trying to guess where and when they might pass by. So, it was not very surprising to me that the rest of our dining-conference had also gone much the same as the day before, with our collective unable to agree upon the how and where to lay in wait. Only to determine to individually think about options and revisit the subject at our next group meal. I crossed my fingers and hoped that some new information would present itself before the redcaps regrouped enough to do something as bad or worse than they had to our wrinkled comrade.

Flowery scented Tegan Bramblerose spoke up before we moved on, though, "I'm concerned about Sol. It's been a couple of days and we have no idea what might have happened to her."

Gavin tensed his rough red-orange muscles to leap into action and save the distressed damsel of darkness. The rest of us around the table were more thoughtful.

"I guess," Iron Wade the Man of Steal said after placing his dishes in the ceramic sink's basin and moving to the living room, "we could ask around at Sheaves & Leaves… Maybe try and find this Salamander Court place and ask there if anyone knows where to find that Jack guy?"

"Hmph," Mr. Tallwind grunted derisively and drank some coffee as he settled into a living room chair, "From the way I had the scene described to me, she chose to go, I don't see as its any of our business."

"It's just that…" Tegan stood in the doorway and fluttered her hands to indicate her frustration. "I mean I thought we were sticking together as a group, you know…"

Gavin went over and gave Tegan a one arm reassurance hug. And we all generally made noises of agreement. Privately I realized that Sol was the only other girl in our group, except for Amy, who tended to remain apart from us. If nothing else Tegan may have just wanted another female around, but I felt it was more than just that. Then we tried to ponder what to do about Dark Sol some more.

"Think about it," Sean remained seated, but his coffee had grown cold from neglect, "even if it was a worst case scenario," he held his dowel-fingered hands up to forestall objections, "and I hope it is not, but say we could find Sol and she was either dead or recaptured by a True Fae." A heightened tension pass through the room at the suggestion. "If the problem was the former, then finding her does nothing to change what happened. If it was the latter, then we can't realistically help her and would just get caught ourselves if we tried."

"Personally," I offered from where I leaned back against a wall, in a sunbeam with my arms crossed in front of me, "I feel like the most relevant point is still that Dark Sol is still a _grown-up_. An adult that did not indicate she wanted our assistance." I held up my right hand to stop the barrage of victims-may-not-realize-they-need-help-beforehand style arguments that Tegan and Gavin had been favoring, "Sol could have said something to any one of us before leaping away with Spring-Heeled Jack, even if it was just 'see you soon'. But since she did not, that seems to indicate, she was not interested in our input."

Also, I did not share that I honestly was not sure that I wanted to get too involved with the eerie sun-shy girl's life. When I met her at Kendal, Solanna seemed open, pleasant, and caring. However, since we all returned from captivity Dark Sol had been sulky, cynical, and sinister more often than not—much more so than any of the rest of us. So, if Sol is choosing to travel dangerous avenues, I could not imagine what any of us could do to stop her. Especially, because the pale lady would just keep doing it until _she_ decided to stop. That said, however, I would help if Dark Sol asked for it, as I believed I would for any of my companions.

So, that pretty much dissolved the that rendition of the discussion. If athletic Tegan or gravely-muscled Gavin chose to pursue seeking Dark Sol on their own, it was not mentioned. Although, I had been confident that we would all hear the concerns and arguments the next time we all gathered, unless Sol did appear.

Meanwhile, in just a few days, I had become more and more enamored with Las Vegas, which made me worry that I was also becoming too dependent on the desert city. Vegas was especially great for winnowing anger fueled fancies, however what if I were stuck in Athens and in need of wyrd? Also, as long as my fetch-imposter was still besmirching my original life, I knew I had to maintain some connections to that part of Ohio.

Therefore, I had researched rageaholic meetings in Athens and found a community center. That center had been like a YMCA without the international clout or direct Christian connection. They hold regular group counseling sessions for a handful of addictions and disorders, including rage control issues. As a bonus, the center also featured a fairly professional boxing ring and training equipment. So, if there is no rageaholics meeting, then there would likely be a boxer wannabe that was mad about something, or at least easy to provoke.

I took advantage of Iron Wade pestering Raion-ju to lead him back to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves. I tagged along on the trip in order to scout out the community center for the first time. Thankfully all of my companions were into their own thoughts and no-one asked where I was going or if they could accompany me. Which made me even more happy as the others continued to show more willingness to have independent lives. On the other hand, I probably should have been more concerned that we really did believe that a gang of ferocious ogres were out to get each of us. probably should

The Briar treated us to a new form of disturbing as a thunderstorm broke and rolled beyond the treetops. With the added cloud cover, the dense foliage had been dark as night, although did also prevent any precipitation from falling directly on any of us. However, the almost cathedral-like vaulting of the canopy made the sloosh of the driving rain and the crack-boom of the thunder, echo like roars and the howling wind became any number of terrible sheiks and scream.

I was relieved that the rain had mostly passed by the time Rai led us into Ariadne's garden. I was even more grateful when I passed through the bookstore and the storm had not entered the Mortal World at all, save for some thick grey clouds.

From there I traveled on my own. I arrived at the Athens Athletics Community Center just as they opened at 8:00 am Eastern Standard Time. I discovered that the website I had found was out of date and the anger management meetings had been moved to after 4:00 pm, presumably to be more convenient for people on their ways home from stress inducing work. At least there had been a couple of very muscly young guys in training, though. Plus, the boxing coach ascribed to the "get mad to get strong" school of thought, so my luck bore me aloft once more.

I did not, of course, get directly involved with anyone at the Gym. I had been worried that I would be tossed out or banned, if I tried provoking anyone enough to thresh some wyrd. Instead, I stood close, yet out of the way, and made faces of pity or indignation when a boxer saw me. I remained subtle enough that the lads did not register that I was mocking him, even though it did seem to rile them up subliminally. So, I sort of lightly threshed to increase my winnow.

The process quickly became an enjoyable game of testing my own skills of subtly. Thankfully I had set a reminder alarm on my phone, so that after a couple of hours, I hightailed it back to Sheaves & Leaves. If my black-cat companion had been surprised that I wanted to return to our oak tree so soon, he did not show it. By the time I followed Raion-ju padding up Amy's outer spiral stairs, it was around 8:00 am Pacific Standard Time. With hiking, bus travel, and stopping into the casino across the street—to tidy up my appearance as much as possible—I made it to my 10:00 am meeting with Pashmi. I was even early enough to seem eager, yet not desperate… I hoped.

I was not expecting anything physical from Pashmi. It was just a first date and a chance for me to simply socialize a little. However, I was absolutely interested in a physical relationship with the sultry beauty. So, I had resolved to step outside of my normal timid-ness and take chances, if I saw them. As long as I thought I could do so with some modicum of grace, of course.

First chance, I followed Pashmi's lead. Rather than walking or busing around, I paid for taxies throughout the day. Definitely something I would not bother with alone. On a date though, it is a great idea, especially in a crappy traffic area like Las Vegas near the Strip. Plus, I had way more money than I ever thought I would: I kept reminding myself that I could afford some treats.

I knew the mall was going to be high-end retailers, even so Pashmi had been correct, they still offered better prices than the boutiques that have space in the casinos. The petite almond-eyed lady helped me select a swimsuit, shirt, flip-flops, and sunglasses that did not clash and theoretically looked hip and good on me. I also bought my lovely date a $100 bikini from Victoria's Secret. The store and swimsuit were Pashmi's choice, not that I could possibly have mustered any objection. I figured it was a three-fer—the gesture might impress the copper-colored woman, she was helping me shop so it was a thank you, and she might have been self conscious with what she owned for going to Ultra-pool. The last was not very likely, although she did seem to have a low-wage job, regardless I was not going to be so crass as to ask outright.

Pashmi did seem pleased with the gift, although coolly so. I had not been exactly expecting giddy squeals of delight and jumps of joy, however the almost calculating smiled did seem a bit underwhelming. I did figure out, eventually, that Pashmi was probably trying to assess whether I was trying to pay her for something more intimate to come, or maybe just get her into something as lewd as possible. For the former, my actions proved otherwise, for the latter, I stress again the specific garment was the lady's selection—I just happened to thoroughly approve of the lewdness level.

The two of us arrived at the Ultra-pool and were shown to our main floor cabana. I considered upgrading to a bungalow, but decided that would seem to presumptuous (especially added to the bikini purchase). Instead I settled for continuing to endeavor to ignore my tendency to count pennies in all of the rest of the day's events. I could afford what the aqua-nightclub had to offer and, thankfully, Pashmi did not seem interested in any of the outrageousness ($700! bottle service), anyway.

My date and I each availed ourselves of the pool's changing rooms. Ultra-pool was one of Sin City's many "European" style and hipster swimming clubs, so there were plenty of attractive twenty-somethings and quite a few of them were topless women. My cynical assumption was that most, if not all, of the bare breasts belonged to showgirls that worked for the MGM Grand resort and either were relaxing during the day before their evening performances, or where simply paid to hang out at the pool mostly naked to entice horny men to spend money therein. Had I not been there with Pashmi, I would certainly have been one of those drooling idiots, regardless of why the lithe-young topless-women were percent.

As it was, though, once I saw Pashmi striding towards me, I barely noticed anyone else the rest of the day. The well toned woman's skin was a rich reddish-brown and Graced by Summer-fire with a metallic sheen that caused her to look like burnished copper and most of that skin exotic skin was visible. Pashmi's shiny-shapely legs swayed her firm hips, half wrapped in an orange and yellow sarong, and causing her fresh-penny bright breasts (barely contained by the electric blue triangles of her new spaghetti strap top) to jiggle slightly—as only natural breasts can. The exotic lady's smoldering plum-colored eyes fixed on me... which is what really did me in.

We ate amazing sushi and drank a couple of pitchers of margaritas. Up close I could see that my date's skin was even more complex, apparently just below the semi-metallic surface—as Fire-Summer's Grace held it contained—languid rolling darkness churned like lazy clouds. Pashmi's satiny black hair, wore in three wide plaited braids, would reveal its deep blue nature in the sunlight that streamed in through the skylights. The sultry woman's braids allowed the points of her burnish-ears to be seen, as well as accenting her every curve when viewed from behind or one of the plats would drape forward over her sloping bosom. Plus, the dusky lady wore long dangling golden earrings that drew my questing eye to the supple copper-red of her slender neck and shoulders. Similarly, the gold tattoos that Pashmi wore like elegant fingerless lace gloves, would catch the light whenever her raise her hand to her full lips to eat or laugh.

The two of us swam and talked. The storm cloud colors of Pashmi's eyes churned slowly, matching the faint smoky echo just below her bright-warm skin. I saw the glow of a white hot furnace behind Pashmi's somewhat crooked teeth, when she spoke, or laughed.

The seductive woman laughed easily, although only when she was honesty amused. I liked that about Pashmi a lot, even though most of what amused her that day was my earnest naivety and effectively boyish attempts at charm. With practice I might get better, however at that time I was focusing hard on everything my companion said and trying not to think about, or stare at, her arousing form, lest U embarrass myself with something else focusing hard. So, in spite of my best efforts my attention was being tugged in many directions, not the least of which was the tent-like blousiness of my swim-trunks, and I had not been as articulate as I would have preferred. Even so, Pashmi laughed and spoke with honest enthusiasm and no hint of mockery.

The pair of us spent hours taking in the ambiance, mostly together, occasionally separating for some polite reason or other. Pashmi was simply, H-O-T, hot and she knew it, yet did not act like she knew it. The midnight haired beauty seemed comfortable with herself and how others looked at her. I was simultaneously jealous of my date's aplomb, placed at ease by it, and astonished to be the one interacting with her. Amazingly, as sexy as Pashmi had been, she was never more so than when I watched from across the room as she sensually approached two jock guys and deftly got them to fight over her, then strutted away without a backwards glance—the boys' anger-fuel imagined victories tucked away for later.

After the extended conversation, I could tell that my voluptuous date was older than me. Pashmi's spirit-touched form looked to be in her early twenties, with her sophistication my instincts adjusted to her thirties, possibly. However, for all I really knew the sultry woman could be thousands of years old—I had no idea if changelings even aged anymore. Pashmi certainly held herself with a confidence and grace that I associated with more mature people than with whom I was accustomed. The sexy lady did not present any anachronistic mannerisms, though, including no accent. In truth, the closest that I had come to guessing at Pashmi's being much older, was her multilingual moments. Pashmi just pronounced the sushi's as if she were a native speaker of Japanese, as well as the appetizers that we considered being made to sound properly French, and I was convinced that she knew at least one Indian dialect, as I doubted that her mortal life had started in the US. As far as I knew, it took a long time to train away an accent and I believed Pashmi had done so at least three times over.

When we were together, Pashmi and I discussed many things, most of them small and generic, weather, the food, music, and the like. Here and there throughout the conversation, I asked about living in Las Vegas. Where would be safe to settle? I was fishing for ideas of where to move my haven's magical portal without actually saying as much. What is driving and parking like in Sin City? Did she like working for d'Or? And so on. The sensual self-contained summer-storm of a lady responses seemed genuine and unguarded. Vegas is fine, with more variety of distractions than most places. Some neighborhoods were safer than others especially for spirit-touched, she believed a few smaller groups of fae had banded together throughout the area. The changeling groups might be territorial, however the areas controlled by the various barbaric broken-ones were definitely high risk. Driving was alright as long as you stayed away from the Strip. The Duchy d'Or served Pashmi well, she worked the equivalent of forty hours per week with flexible scheduling and had a place to stay in which she felt secure.

In turn, my smoky-eyed, smoky-skinned, smoking hot date asked me about where I was from. How long had I been out of the Edge? What sort of alliances I had and was interested in? How did everyone in my Motley avoid going insane and homeless?

I answered Pashmi as honestly as I felt she had my inquiries, which still meant not fully. At least I know I left key details out and I had assumed Pashmi did the same from the style of her answers. For instance, when the pretty lady said "And none of you have gone mad, since returning to this world?"

I was first a little taken aback at the it's-so-common-as-to-be-expected nature of Pashmi's tone. Then I replied, "I wouldn't say that. I can't even claim that I am wholly sane, simply for staying with them." I smiled to indicate my partial jest. "On the one hand, we looked out for each other and shared information. And that seemed to keep us all fairly even-keeled." I shrugged one shoulder. "On the other hand, we all seem to be driven to actions that probably seem objectively unwise, even as we pursue them. Like the red-caps we plan to ambush." I sipped like-green margarita.

Pashmi's almond eyes somehow snapped into more intense focus and we discussed 'caps for a while. I was surprised and prod as I figured out that I knew more than my more experienced date regarding the blood-soaked ogre fiends. I was also pleased to see that Pashmi found the subject of the brutes and my group's plans of retaliation as engrossing as I felt it was. That portion of our talk concluded with Pashmi asking, with a mischievous grin, "You will have to tell me how the fight went… if you survive."

I found the woman's tone and smile hopeful and encouraging. I had to, once more, forcibly draw my fondling-gaze away from Pashmi's mouth. The choleric woman's lips seemed as inviting as a soft pillow after a hard day and her teeth had a slight asymmetry that seemed to hint of a tongue's playground. Meanwhile, I had just met the seductive coppery-cloudy person and I really had no reason to believe I would be safe with her. There are lots of myths and fairy tales about succubae, sirens, and the like, I did not want to believe that Pashmi was such as they, yet I still knew it would be better to verify before trying for more. Plus, as I said, it was our first date and I _really_ did not want to give the impression that sex was all that I was interested in—even if it was the thing that happened to be at the top of my list at that moment.

"Absolutely," I agreed, "they don't stand a chance." I winked.

There had also been enough reflective surfaces around the aqua-club that I had gotten a couple of good looks at Pashmi's Masque. I hoped she had not done the same, for I knew my gangly twenty-seven year old mortal appearance do not come near to measuring up to my sun-kissed elfin fae-self. Unlike, Pashmi's own mortal facade which was equally pretty by comparison to her spirit-touched looks. Pashmi's Masque was of an olive-skinned woman of Indian decent. The petite East Asian's ears were not pointed, her hair had no blue sheen, her golden tattoos looked like normal henna dye, and her eyes were dark brown. Although, the fiery humored woman's teeth did seem to sparkle more like heat lightning than any normal humans could. Otherwise, the Pashmi in the mirror looked much the same as the one that sat before me.

Hanging out with charming-sensual Pashmi was so easy and relaxed that I did not want it to end. Even the flirting we did had seemed to be without any hidden pressure—which only made me more cautious. I would rather continue to simply share the company of someone that I felt comfortable around, than risk offending then—or embarrassing myself. As much as I longed for more physical relations in my life, overall I felt even more socially deprived. So, partially because I wanted to prolong the date, I asked Pashmi to help me pick out an outfit from some of Mandalay Bay's more ritzy shops.

The other two parts of shopping at the overpriced resort locations had to do with a few things Pashmi had clarified for me. The first was what my petite companion had said about Mlife and the other players clubs, namely that their point and benefit tracking scales offer much greater advancement when paying directly for rooms, food, entertainment, and participating shops, than simple gambling. So, the lunch and drinks that I had bought at Ultra-Pool counted like twenty-five times more per dollar spent, than if I had been betting that much at poker. The final part of the reason for the additional shopping trip was how Pashmi made me think about myself. I realized that—at least while I was in Las Vegas—I wanted to look better than the most affordable Old Navy had to offer. Plus, I wanted to dress in something of which I knew the sexy ticket seller approved.

It was around four o'clock by the time the shopping was done. I made another long-shot pitch, "I, um, I need to do some gambling now. Would you be interested in tagging along?"

Not surprisingly Pashmi smiled politely and said "Ah, no. Standing around for a few hours watching people play cards or dice or whatever, is not fun for me."

I sensed no admonishment or judgment. Pashmi just seemed to treat my comment like I was an accountant and had asked her if she wanted to hang out in my office while I crunched numbers.

The two of us had walked out onto the pavement in front Mandalay as our date came to an unavoidable close. I stood there holding my boutique bags full of swag and felt like I loomed over the coppery sprite of a woman, even in heels I doubt Pashmi reached 5'2". Before parting, I screwed up enough courage to take one more risk and bent down to take my shot… Pashmi's kisses taste like chai and she smiled knowingly when I walked (practically floated) away.

Since I was there already, I started with a $1000 'Hold'em table at Mandalay Bay. It resulted in a wash monetarily. I was still distracted from the taste of exotic spices. Even so, I received two complimentary tickets to see Santanna at the House of Blues—great exchange fodder, unless Pashmi wanted to see the legendary musician.

Hoping to clear my head, I changed scenery to Balley's, got a meal, and winnowed a little more wyrd. Then I found another $1000 'Hold'em buy-in and was back in the groove. My cash winnings were very nice, easily making up for what I had spent earlier in the day. Honestly, I had made, in just a couple of days, more money than I had earned the last time that I had filed taxes. I was also comped two seats for Carrot Top's show, which were for trade—I did not even care if Pashmi was interested to go.

I am not sure if I had even been so pleased with a day and myself by the time I returned to our oak haven. Neither the grumpies, Misters Tallwind and Man O'Steal, raised weathered eyebrows at my new attire, nor Tegan's sparkling-green knowing-look at my face and body language, were able to muddle my mood with self-consciousness. In addition to buying clothes that fit well, felt great, and looked fabulous, I had made a lot of money, ate some amazing food, and spent the day with a gorgeous woman that seemed to actually like my company, as much as I did her's. I even remembered to tip all the people who served me and barely resented doing so. I could not stop smiling as I hung my close, starting to fill in my otherwise empty oak-wardrobe, Life was good.


	17. Chapter 17

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

_Twilight Tommy flies, soars, swoops until the houses below are toys and the clouds wrap around Tommy like a cloak. The sun can no longer outshine Tommy dancing in between night and day as lazy as a firefly. Tommy's a brand new boy, as sweet as a berry on the vine, Aeolian said. How proud Tommy is, how fine! Tommy would crow about it, but only Aeolian may crow, just as only Aeolian can wear a fine feather in his cap, or dance on Thursdays, or kiss the mermaids…. So many rules to know, so hard to remember them all…._

_Falling. Blackness. Shock._

_Tommy's back is up against the cold stone and edges slowly sideways on a narrow ledge no wider than edging feet. It spirals round the mountain. As Tommy looks down, the sheer rock falls away to clouds, and below even further are tiny white-capped waves of a cold, unquiet sea. Tommy knows that there is no cave, no doorway into the hollow mountain, nothing that can be reached by_ _foot. Moving is warmer than staying still, so slowly Tommy edges along hoping for a niche with less wind. _

_Tommy sees the Other Boy—has not given a name and the Master calls all of the boys Boy—and floats between the mountains with pale hair that hangs around like fog, greenish skin too selfish to feel the cold. The Other Boy has an orange in hand; it seems to glow in this grey place like a tiny sunset. Tommy has eaten nothing since leaving the world, drunk only dew. Tommy can smell the orange as the Other Boy tears it in half while sitting on the open air. The Boy licks a drop and makes a face, then drops the fruit down, down to the ocean below. _

_Tommy feels horror at this waste, and hatred springs within the heart, burning hot for the Other Boy who grins and swoops away. The heat Tommy feels is the anger in blood and it reminds Tommy of hot sidewalks under feet and bark under hands. Tommy remembers the feeling of being wild and free in the summertime; no one could catch Tommy, no one could find Tommy. _

_Tommy swears something on hand and heart. _

_Tommy smells fresh mown grass and feels like it could be possible to twist the mountain around in a grasp and shake it until those within tumbled into the sea. The cold stone crumbles at Tommy's strike and warm firelight and song greet him through the hole in the mountain. _

Day 16: Wednesday, November 23rd

I woke up, but the smell of hot pavement and cut grass seemed to cling to my bed sheets. If the Briar had clocks, then they must have shown 3:00 am. Apparently, I had been too happy when I had went to bed and The Gyr counter-balanced that scale.

I did not get fully back to sleep. I lay half awake, tossing and turning until dawn. I kept grinding the frustration and unfairness of my vision against the reality I was now living. The dreamembering was not completely horrible, I did now recall the secrets of another glamour that Summer-Fire had granted me for my pledge. Also, I the dream ended with me opening the path that ultimately led to freedom. Even so, all of the other hardships overwhelmed the joy I wanted to feel.

I especially could not reconcile the petty selfishness of the cloud-headed boy. Nor could I shake the suspicion that the boy had most likely followed me out… it was infuriating. On the one hand, I did not want anyone to be subjugated by any of the Folk, on the other I did not like that I had to free myself, while that arrogant, lazy grass-stained boy probably just slipped out in my wake.

I rose and stalked into the large common room to better pace as I fumed. Everyone else that was in the oak, except for Amaryllis, had also congregated in the living room, each of them also in heightened moods. Most of my allies, like me, had experienced dreams which they would not discuss in any detail, yet had left them in varying degrees of frustrated rage. The exception was Iron Wade the Man of Steel, who had arrived in our haven's main room emboldened, albeit in a grim and resolute sort of way. Tegan Bramblerose, however, was the extreme contrast, that even made my mood more foul.

All that the bright viridescent-eyed, flush freckled-cheeked, wide smiling girl would say was, "My dream was great! I remembered the manner and victory of my escape from the Master."

Tegan had been so elated that she had leapt from bed and run around the oak's clearing several times. So, not only was the athletic lady joyous in the face of my gloom, her alabaster skin glistened with perspiration and caused her extra-large mint-green sleeping t-shirt to cling to her otherwise nude, full rounded breasts, hips, and thighs. The situation only increased my frustration as my impotent fury at the fog-headed bastard, clashed with my desire to enjoy Tegan's beauty and happiness.

We all made efforts to calm ourselves and each other, empty platitudes mostly. Eventually, to take our minds off our dreams, the subject of the redcaps reared its recitative head. Since I was almost as furious at having to relive that topic once more, it was an easy transition to stop thinking about my dreamemory and start thinking angrily about the conversation at hand. It took over an hour to once more verify that we all still agreed to follow through with preparations for stalking and attacking the frat-holes.

One or the other of our party would step away in turns to shower, dress, and rejoin the discussion. That particular subject had became so second nature that all of us were treating it like ambiance. My mind boggled that the others still did not seem to notice, though, even as the conversation went on over our breakfast of cold cereal.

The milk tasted good and fresh, yet odd. I chose not to ask Amy why that might be—I was not confident I could handle the answer. Plus, I had started to dread the idea that any new mystery, no matter how frivolous, would provide my companions' an excuse to unravel their resolves and throw off the redcap hunt in favor of any distraction.

Inevitably, the day had to truly get underway and as I exited the oak and stepped off its curling stairs, puzzle pieces clicked into place in my mind. It was so obvious that I had almost smacked my forehead for not seeing it immediately. The Boy, the horrible, fog haired, green-tinted other Boy. Stealer of joyous flight and waster of luscious fruit. It had been… it was Russel, Lightning Russel, in fact, had been the full of what he named himself, in the dark Tangle Thorns after he had snuck through behind me. The same ass that had turned down over a thousand dollars, then made Sean Tallwind pay for his needs. The smarmy Rust-knuckle that had come on to Amy…

I pivoted on my heel as it hit the mossy ground and stalked towards the hanging punishment-pod, where the reliant dryad had placed Mr. L. Russel. I was in the perfect mood to invoke my freshly recalled Summer's Might glamour, increasing my strength by whatever factor the Gyr deemed, and then working a plant-y punching bag. Alas, the slippery bastard denied me that as well. The pod hung empty, burst from the inside and charred as if by fire or electricity. My mood soured further.

I knew I was too angry, so I did not call out to Amaryllis to ask about the pod, as I did not want to accidently lash out at her. Nor could any of my comrades be bothered to care about the missing moocher, at that moment. Just like so many of the things we had all had to deal with since waking as spirit-touched, I suspected that rather address an issue that arose as it happened, there would be a day or two before one or more of my haven-mates would start insisting we seek out the conniving Light-Rusty. Personally, I was torn between hoping none of them ever cared and never seeing the mist-head again, verses wanting to rally a search party as soon as possible so that I could beat the ungrateful Russel to a pulp.

I settled for trying to ignore the thoughts as all seven of us headed towards Athens. Looking back, I am surprised at how quiet Amy had been through the morning. Especially, when the dryad let us all leave, without insisting that she needed at least one of us to stay and help protect her. It is possible that Amy did try and I was too self involved to notice. Although, I suspect the resilient tree-lass had actually been a little physically wound from Lightning Crustle's violent departure. If true that pathetic waste of air is damn likely I had not made the connection sooner, for that would have been the straw that sent me seeking him with relentless conviction.

Raion-ju prowled and led along side the spring-in-her-steps Ms. Bramblerose. I fumed, and the other six all (understandably) tried to avoid me, although I still insisted on being in the center of the party. As we hiked through the ever shadowed forest, the air seemed to be more chill and damp with stronger breezes than I had noticed on previous trips. Yet, the foliage also seemed much drier and more inclined to sounds of rustles, scrapes, snaps, creeks.

Shortly after the smells of cider and burning leaves started to envelop our troupe, we came upon a much larger procession of spirit-touched travelers, on a wide almost road-like path. Tegan paused, then said, "Huh, that's interesting." She pointed whence the other, much larger, group of changelings had come. "This way starts at Ariadne's, I'm sure of it."

"Well, rrr that lady urmph looks like rrugh a queen." Freerunner pointed a furry finger at a lady on horseback near the lead of the possession. "Rrrarr So, I'm urgh guessing thererere the local court, rrr qw heard rrurm aabout."

So it was that my Briar-fresh band first encountered the Court of the Mid-West Territories. The woman that 'Runner had identified as the Queen seemed to be made of liquid metal, polished bronze and wore an elaborate crown of delicate clear crystal that cut what little light there was into rainbow ribbons about her head. Many, many others traveled with the regal Lady. Some of the courtiers we recognized from Sheaves & Leaves. I noted the wet grey lady from when I first met rare books librarian Alistair Tomes. Tegan claimed to have seen the tall woman in red that walk beside the Queen, easily as regal, with a perpetual swirl of autumn leaves in her wake. We also saw some travelers that I had assumed belonged more to Ariadne's Freehold than to the Hawk Wood Court. I picked out the goat-ish Dr. Peter Dionysus fairly near the head of the procession. Alistair was a bit further back, wearing his fancy silver-buttoned frock coat with his shirt collar and cuffs open to display his inky black tattoos.

My colleagues huddled in the underbrush and quietly started to debate whether or not to join the procession, follow it from a distance, or ignore it and continue with our original intent. Also, if we did try to join or follow the dozens of strange strangers, would it be considered rude and get us into trouble with the local fae authority. I mostly just rolled my eyes, knowing full well that this was the distraction for which most of my party had been praying. So, there was no way we would not be tagging along down the unknown path. As this was going on, the latter third of the procession party had started to pass my clustered allies.

A gamboling, orange fellow with dark-green face paint, or tattoos, and wearing a loincloth came over to our stunned little group. I later reflected on how the loincloth look was fairly prevalent in this territory and wondered how a region with such notoriously long winters could produce such a fashion trend. At the time, though, I was still in a foul temper and the jovial nature of the oompa-loompa reject was making me worse.

The pumpkin-colored man asked in a convivial tone, "Are you all coming to the Barrow Mound." He said it like there was only one.

Images of a mass grave sites seemed to give my fellows pause.

"Um, maybe," Iron Wade scratched his leathery cheek with one hand of pale scars and looked around, "what's going on at the Barrow Mound, exactly?"

The orange fellow rolled his eyes and shook his head, "You haven't heard?" He said with enthusiastic incredulity. "There is to be an announcement!"

And that was all it took. The new uncertainty-worm that had been dangled in front of my compatriots now had a hook. Redcaps, schmedcaps, this thing right in front of us must override any other plans. I seriously considered leaving my haven-mates to whatever it turned out to be and heading on to town alone. However, even in my petulance, I knew that the redcaps thing had already waited several days and could easily wait some more, while the announcement probably was not going to get better with retelling. Especially, considering the bumper-car style my gang relayed stories.

Raion-ju must have come down on the other side of the coin, because he stalked off in the direction that Tegan had claimed held Ariadne's—quick and gloomy. Although, I doubted the fellow with the yellow-green cat-eyes was any more likely to do any redcap investigating on his own than he already had, which had been piss all.

The remaining six of us fell in step with the orange fellow. He was shorter than average, although not truly oompa-loompa small. His peculiar, sticky-out hair was more red-orange than his yellowy skin. His green face markings were thick and vaguely tribal, yet reminded me of jack-o-lanterns more than anything. He was lean and muscular. Other than the brown-leather loincloth, he wore a bow and quiver strapped to his back.

Wade and the always chatty Gavin Granitbane took the initiative to start introductions. My companions each offered their fae names in turn.

Pumpkin-man introduced himself as, "You may call me Lor."

My mood was causing me to make a bad impression via sour looks, sarcastic grunts, and a standoffish posture.

"And that," Tegan pointed a perfect thumb at me, "is our ill-tempered friend Twilight Tommy." She introduced with an apologetic tone and amused twinkle in her crystal green eyes.

"So, what is the announcement that you mentioned, Lor?" Tallwind asked, once introductions were out of the way and he was limping along a little behind the spray-tan-gone-wrong chap.

Lor shrugged "Some big deal or other. I've heard that it might have to do with the whereabouts of Queen Jackie Snow's nephew. Supposedly, he's been kidnapped."

We all winced. After having been kidnapped and tortured into a new state of being, pretty much all spirit-touched are especially sensitive to any kidnappings.

"She's the bronze lady on the horse, up there?" Gavin asked pointing with his rough cut boulder of a hand.

Lor's leaf-green eyes were only surprised a moment before he remembered we were new. "No that's the current Autumn Queen, Queen Glass. That's former King-Queen Snow," he gestured ahead of us, "of Winter. She's the pale… Lady…on the pale horse." His tone when he said 'lady' indicated he had to pick a gender, but was not willing to swear to it.

Jackie Snow had been pretty as well as androgynous. She/he was wiry with sparkly, white skin, like sun on fresh snow. His/Her hair was long, wild, and coal-black. She/he wore a dress of latex in palest icy-blue. I could not avoid thinking about my parents photo albums from the '70s and glam-rock musicians.

"I've also heard," Lor continued, "that the visiting dignitary was going to say something."

"Visiting dignitary?" weather worn Wade rasped bluntly. "Who and from where?"

"Apparently she was a bigwig from the east, but I heard that she now travels from court to court, advising." Lor supplied. "Her name is Red… something… Oh you know, Red, it's a kind of bird" he held his orange wrists together and flapped his orange fingers.

"Robin?" I snapped.

"No." Lor said.

"Cardinal?" I tried again in frustration.

"No, no," Lor shook his squash-head, "the bird's not red. Red is just part of her name."

"Eagle?… Jay?… Cuckoo?…" I paused after each, allowing Lor time to dismiss them, "Sparrow… Finch?… Pelican?..." this was not helping my mood.

"Wow," Lor said a little stunned, "You know a lot of birds. But it's one of the flightless ones."

""Kiwi?…" I barely let him finish. "Ostrich?… Penguin?… Rhea?..."

"That's it," Lor touched his nose with one index finger and pointed to me with the other, "Red Rhea. Well done." He beamed a little, his teeth were paler orange like the flesh of a pumpkin.

After a moment when it did not seem that Lor would continue, I said through clenched teeth, "And what might Red Rhea have to say?"

Lor blinked at me nonplused, "You really are an angry fellow aren't you?" He continued before I could scream. "Red Rhea, might have some political missive, like an alliance proposal…. Or, I also heard, she might have something to say about the missing mortal children."

Tegan was especially interested in that. I seemed to recall that the former ROTC student had mentioned, at some earlier meal time, seeing some news articles about the high rate of missing—presumed abducted—kids in the greater Athens area. I am sure I missed the specifics, because it had been brought up during one of the endlessly repetitive redcap discussions. Plus, each of us had been dealing with our own issues and, personally, I could not imagine how to even start helping such a large group of missing strangers. Lor's speculation gave the fair Bramblerose hope that she, at least, may be able to somehow help. In my gloom, I had considered that the local Court may have been behind the abductions and Red Rhea might just make a successful progress report.

Our conversation had drawn the attention of some of the other changelings walking near us. They joined in with their own theories. No one had any definite information. All the speculations generally matched with Lor's, with a few variations or minor additions. One mentioned that they heard that Red Rhea had kidnapped Queen Jackie Snow's nephew for leverage to get that Queen to agree with the announcement to which we were headed. Others had heard that Red Rhea was an exceptional scholar and researcher. Others thought she had been a queen in the East, but had performed grim rituals and glamours that resulted in her banishment. Others had heard she acted as a puppet for the Gentry. Others had heard she allied with the rampant unbound and broken people of the east.

That led the conversation on a brief tangent to explain to my male companions that the east is mostly ruled by those unbound from the Gyr. Sweet smelling Tegan and I, if nothing else, had the wherewithal to remember that we had already confirmed "unbound" or "broken" meant vampires and possibly werewolves—at least in Las Vegas. The fae travelers claimed that there were a few spirit-touched courts in the American east, however, those communities were much smaller and fairly isolated by comparison to the more western courts.

Then apropos of nothing, Lor drew an arrow from his quiver at one point and had Tegan pause for a moment. The pumpkin-y loin-cloth man deftly and quickly stabbed the air behind an auburn shrouded left ear. Lor's arrow came back into view with a fish sort of thing on it. Like an overgrown, semi-translucent, yellow and pink striped, angelfish with disproportionately large fins. The thing seemed to float even though it was dead.

"These are real tasty if you can get 'em." Lor said as he tore off one long gossamer fin and sucked it down.

"But what is it?! What was it doing?!" I snapped, wide eyed, somewhat concerned that it had been beneficial.

"It's a niggler." Lor shrugged and told me matter-of-factly. "You have three nibbling at your thoughts right now." He shrugged again. "that's what they do, eat at your unguarded thoughts."

I was horrified, yet could not tell if orange exhibitionist was messing with me for being rude earlier. So, I caught up to Alistair, not too far ahead. I got a good look at the bibliophile's tattoos and I felt my luck was with me again. Alistair's ink looked like Nordic runes and, from what little I knew, they referred to knowledge retention. So, I assumed the fastidious man was warded against invisible thought-fish and could help me get rid of mine—if I actually had any.

I fell in beside Mr. Tomes and mimicked his pace for a little while. It helped to improve my mood slightly. I knew I could not afford to piss Alistair off, just before asking for his help.

"So, Alistair," I opened with, when he glanced over, "what do you know about sometimes invisible, thought-eating fish?"

The overly groomed fellow's indigo-eyes narrowed. "_Why_?" He drew out the word in trepidation.

I shrugged and tried to act nonchalant. "Someone was trying to convince me that I had some."

Alistair's eyes widened and he took a step away from me. The parchment-skinned man might have gone further, however we were fairly close to other walkers. "What?! A few?! You brought them here?!" he waved his hand around his head as if swatting at flies.

"I didn't know until a minute ago!" I snapped feeling hurt. Partially by Alistair's recoiled. Partially because the man clearly could not see the flying inviso-fish, so probably could not help rid me of them. "And the guy might have been playing me."

The book clerk calmed down a bit.

"If I did have these nibblers…" I tried to get aid anyway.

"Nigglers." Alistair corrected reflexively.

I took a breath and let it out. "If I do have a case of nigglers, how bad is it?"

Mr. Tomes then asked me several trivia questions in rapid succession, like a simple SAT. The precise chap seemed satisfied with my responses. After that Alistair said, "Well, you've probably just had a hard time keeping track of short term things. Like 'where did I put that pen I just had' and so forth."

As soon as Alistair said it, I realized that I had indeed been feeling like I was not quite remembering the tasks I had wanted to do, also that thing Tegan had talked about earlier that she had to remind us… what was it again?... Crap! I did have nigglers. All my annoyance was redirected at the vile aeronautic fish. "How can I get rid of them?" I asked, trying hard not to plead.

"Get a hunter to kill them." Alistair said with a shrug.

My heart sank a little. I had obviously just met a hunter and, most likely, offended him for no real reason. He was not likely to kill my fish just because I asked. Then my heart rose a little, as I remembered that I had bargaining supplies. Lor did not need to know that my complimentary tickets were only good in Vegas until after the fish were dead.

I fell back to where Lor was in the procession and waited until he was not speaking to someone else. "Uh, Lor?" I tried hard to sound repentant. "I would like you to kill my thou.. nigglers. I could offer you a pair of tickets to a show, in exchange."

"What show?" the hunter asked.

"Well there's a jou…" I caught and corrected myself. Based on the fae's attire, I had thought to offer him the Excalibur dinner and joust. Then I realized the chap's wild orange-hair had been less curly and more of a color found in nature, yet it was still done in the same style as the comedian's. "Uh, Carrot Top. I would give you two tickets to see Carrot Top."

Lor's green-eyes widened with excitement, then quickly narrowed and one orange eyebrow raised. "He's coming to town?"

"Tommy's been spending a lot of time in Las Vegas." Wade decided to help me. Sometime I think his name should be Iron Wade the Man of a Steel-Head.

Lor got real excited. "You have a way to get to Vegas?!"

I kicked Wade as hard as I could in the shin, I only achieved a glancing blow, though. Even so, the haggard fencing instructor turned grease-monkey seemed to realize that maybe announcing our magic portal to every spirit-touched within earshot, was not the safest idea. "Well, we have this taxi." I saw his steel-grey eye line had settled on Freerunner, briefly.

"You drive in the Briar?" Lor was very incredulous. "_Can_ you drive in the Briar?"

"Runner's beady eyes, full of panic, darted between Wade and Lor. The hirsute man's long whiskers and tufty round ears twitched.

"No, no," Wade raised his hash marked hands defensively and back peddle some more verbally, "we just drive. It takes a few days."

"Look," I snapped my fingers to draw attention and tried to regain control of my transaction and my flaring temper, "the tickets are for Balley's in Las Vegas. They are valid for Carrot Top's show. You kill all my fish and I will give you both tickets, okay?"

I saw Freerunner in the corner of my eye. The sleekly muscled man relaxed, then dropped back to a deferent part of the procession. I purposely avoided looking at Wade at all.

Lor considered a moment. "These are real tickets, not just some leaves you glamoured?"

I could tell the conversation around us threatened to distract the transaction again. I cut to the chase, "By my heart and hand." I touched my palm to my chest and then held it up for Lor to see. "The tickets are real and redeemable."

"Alright." Lor said and held out his hand for the tickets.

I felt the binding tug _thwang_ quickly and satisfactorily into place through my being, as Lor reached out a hand for the tickets. So, I should have been more confident that the hunter would comply. Wade's stunt had embittered me again, though, and I was not sure what sort of loopholes might be in these mystically enforced bargains. So, I insisted on the deal as I had laid it out.

I waggled my finger. "Kill the fish that you say are there, then I hand over the tickets."

Lor treated it as an unnecessary formality, yet complied. The two of us moved to the side of the path and he had me stand still. Lor removed another arrow from his leather quiver and stabbed over my shoulder to get behind me. Tegan's fish had been palm sized, with fins two or three times that. My first niggler was smaller than half of that size and was sky-blue banded with cream and red. Lor pulled fishy creature from his arrow and popped it into his mouth in one motion. I felt a little cheated, I was paying and they were my thoughts that the niggler had eaten.

When Lor retrieved the second fish—slightly larger than my first, deep-purple with white tiger-stripes—I asked for it. The hunter seemed as happy to give me the creature, as not. Lor had seemed impressed, pleased, and encouraging (like any native cuisine eater, when introducing a foreigner to a favored dish) as I swallowed the thing down, as I had seen him do. The niggler had been mild and salty, although closer to nearly flavorless. I wondered if nigglers that ate other people's thoughts had more flavor than one that ate mine own.

The two of us stood still another moment, Lor staring with casual intensity at a space just past my head. Then the hunter said, "That's it. The other's swam away." He tucked his arrow away. "They do that when you start killing them."

I scrutinized the practically naked orange-man a moment, he had been honest that they were there and he did take out two of them. I was worried that he might just leave one, yet he had seem to be dealing in good faith the whole time, in spite of my attitude. Plus, I inspected my inner self and felt the sense of obligation between us lay fully within my half of the _thrumming_ sensation. I produced the tickets from my wallet and handed them over with my thanks.

With the niggling, nagging feelings released, having gained some distance from the morning's nightmare, and having succeeded in my bargain—in spite of Iron Wade's "assistance"—my mood had finally started to lift. After a minute or so of walking in the convivial crowd, along the wide dry path in the gloomy woods, I was even inclined to chat.

When conversation allowed, I asked Lor "So, do you know if Ariadne is in the procession? Or, who is acting as her official representative?" Mostly I wanted to confirm that the Freehold founder was a real person.

"I suspect that that is her." The hunter said gesturing upward with a pumpkin colored hand and without looking. "But I am not interested in risking trying to inspect for confirmation."

I realized that this easy-going man of the Wilder Wood was afraid of how Ariadne might react to scrutiny. So, when I glance to the heights of the trees' canopy, I did so briefly. Amongst the shadows of the thick gnarled branches and autumn hued leaves had been a deeper darkness moving apace with the train of changelings. The shape seemed large. I found myself unsettled, more than I had prepared. I spent the rest of the trip just watching where I was headed.

The Barrow Mound turned out to be large and salamander shaped. As the trailing procession arrived in Queen Glass's wake, she and a couple of courtiers paced around the mound. The trio did so ritualistically and after three circuits the Queen intoned a phrase in a melodic and bell-clear voice and a language that I could not identify. Once the chanting was done, a massive set of stone, double doors appeared in the belly of the Salamander Barrow, opened from within, and out strode a tall Native American man.

The man walked with pride and command. He wore a leather vest, a loincloth, and some simple jewelry; save for the rings in his ears which had two human heads hanging from them to rest on the man's broad shoulders, each accessory-head apparently mummified—except that their mouths moved. The man was bald, except for a single braid that hung from the middle of his head to his shoulder. His hair was a rich cherry-red and flames danced along the plait. It quickly became clear that the man was the current King of this court.

The King and Queen approached each other in view of everyone. The statuesque bronzed-woman was almost as tall as her partner in rule, although his chest was almost three times as wide as she. The pair spoke to each other, so that only they could hear. As they did, Queen Glass started to transform, her structure and features flowed into a female version of the King. After a minute, or so, the two, now twins, turned to the assemblage.

The gathered spirit-touched had clustered in a loose crescent with points near the Barrow's tail and head, effectively creating a makeshift amphitheater.

The King raised his hands for attention and spoke, "I, King Redhorn and Queen Glass, greet you all and thank you for attending." His voice was rich and used to command with just the slightest hint of what I though of as a Native American accent. Queen Glass stood quiet and regal to his left. Redhorn continued, "We are gathered to hear of a blight that plagues our territories and a possible solution. Many of you are already aware of the damage being done, though you may not have learned of the cause. Red Rhea, Scholar Queen, has traveled from the East to share with us what she knows and has determined."

Redhorn lowered his hands towards were the lady in the red formal dress, that Tegan had recognized from Ariadne's, waited nearby. Red Rhea strode to the King and Queen, her Autumnal Grace trailing dry leaves that simply materialized in her wake. The red scholar addressed the leaders privately for a moment, she was a little taller than Redhorn, then turned to the semi-circle of onlookers. Rhea clasped a dark leather-bound book to her chest fervently with both hands, at first. The tall lady's face had a chiseled or carved, wooden quality that conveyed a severity with all of her expressions.

"I have traveled a great deal and poured through many libraries," Red Rhea's voice carried, yet had a dryness that was like the whisper of pages turning, "before I came to this place with this information."

"The children are being abducted." The woman thrust her left hand forward, long thin-fingers clutching the thick dark book, as punctuation. "In recent months they have gone missing in ever greater numbers—numbers far in excess of other Courts." She raised her right hand as if swearing to it. "They are being taken by the Folk."

An unease rippled through the audience. King Redhorn stood stoically and watched those gathered, scanning with his eyes and not moving his head. Queen Glass stood next to the King and slowly metamorphosed to look more and more like Red Rhea.

"They are able to take your children more freely than other courts, because the other courts enact the proper ritual to restrict Them." Red Rhea again gestured with her book, as if trying to propel its contents into the listeners, "That is the Child's Rite. Once established, the Child's Rite must be renewed annually on the Autumnal Equinox." Her voice had gradually risen to an almost shout and the dryness in it had been replaced by the sound of a roaring bonfire. "Most critically one child will need be sacrificed, that the others may be warded."

Another ripple of tension moved through the crowd. King Redhorn did not nod, however did seem to agree with the red arcanist. Queen Glass had started to shift beyond Red Rhea's outward appearance, elongating with hair starting to rise outward branch-like, making her expression hard to read.

"I can perform the initial ritual," Red Rhea said, in a more controlled, but no less zealous tone, "and teach the renewal. If this is not done, then more and more children will be taken. I shall remain here for three days. On the third day I will depart, whether I have enacted the ritual or not."

Red Rhea bowed her head to the crowd and looked once more to the monarch couple. Then there was a period of open discussion and questioning. The members of the Court of the Mid-West Territories and the local Freehold seemed grimly determined or uneasily stunned. At first, I felt that they were just accepting the outsider's pronouncement. Then I realized that the assembled had been taking their cues from their royalty.

In addition to the tacit approval of the reigning monarchs, significant numbers had looked to the former ruler Jackie Snow. She (or he as the case may be) had clearly not only agreed to, but also approved of Red Rhea's statements. I quietly mentioned as much to Lor, to see if a court member agreed with my interpretations.

"Yep, that sees to sum it up." The melancholic hunter nodded towards the wintery King/Queen. "Even Jackie's second, Slyboots, seemed to agree. And he's usually so hard to get a sense of, that he must of really made an effort to be read.

Slyboots, apparently was, or acted as, Jackie Snow's shadow. I could only perceive that occasionally Jackie's shadow would flicker a little independent of any light sources.

"But," Lor accreted, "I definitely spotted Slyboots make a few independent motions at points that would seem in favor of what Red Rhea had said."

Only a few questions were presented to the Court's leaders or the visiting arcane-advisor. Of those few, most came from me and my haven-mates—and then, mainly from the seductive-militant Tegan Bramblerose. However, we were tentative, as we held no real position in either of the gathered communities. I was relieved that the assembly treated us respectfully and as peers, giving our perhaps naive concerns as serious consideration as anyone else's. Although, for the most part, our questions resulted in Red Rhea reaffirming the key points she had already made. The scholar-queen held that there was no other option and that there was no more time for her to waste seeking one.

"I believe my companions and I," I tried to stand in a manner that made me seem deferential rather than challenging, "feel concern that taking and sacrificing a child is all too similar to what the Folk had done to us."

Red Rhea reiterated with stern fervor. "One lost child will protect countless others."

The way I saw it, one sacrificed child per year, that is: forever, theoretically, equaled an infinite number of kids. Plus, I just felt in my bones, that acting in manners akin to the Keepers would somehow benefit Them, more than us. However, Red Rhea was clearly not going to listen and she seemed to have the floor, or in her case, pulpit, at the pleasure of the rulers. So, I saved my breath.

Nonetheless, I did have an idea that might offer a sliver of compassion. I went around to the few people, outside my housemates, that I knew. I suggested to each, that if this ritual was to be fulfilled, then a terminal child should be taken from the local mortal-hospital. The child was likely to be compliant and may even be willing to die early to save others. Additionally their family may not be as grief stricken.

The Court as a whole, had resolved into shifting pockets of spirit-touched doing much as I had. They clustered in small discussion groups. Then one or two would break off and over to another group. No one really approached my party and other than me, my fellows stayed away from the rest of the gathered fae. I was struck with a wave of déjà vu. As soon as I imagined that my companions had cared about doing something, I discovered that they would not actually take any actions. Then, after I spoke to the few people that I thought would consider and pass on my ideas, my five comrades and I left.

No matter what I suggested to the changelings of Ariadne's and the Salamander Court, nor how disheartened I felt that my allies did not try to speak to any of the others, I did agreed with the point that freckled Tegan had tried to make to Red Rhea: there had to be some other option; there just had to be. It felt too much like we were still working for the Masters, if Red Rhea was right. Plus, renowned academics too often decide that they have found _The_ Truth, when they have only found _a_ truth.

What I had started to think of as our core team—Tegan, Runner, Gavin, Wade, Sean, and myself—proceeded to Sheaves & Leaves in grim determination, along the relatively well worn path that the procession had originally traveled. The redcaps had officially been pushed aside and alternatives to the Child's Rite became our gang's goal. On the way, all we discussed was our planned research. The six of us would split up and scour alternate sections of Ariadne's rare books, then compare finds, then swap sections and try again.

By the time our troupe reached Ariadne's Freehold, I had reconsidered again, or possibly I had overcome my sultry bloomwell companion's faery aroma. As important as I agreed that the research alternate-Child's Rite was, I still felt it was also important to prepare for the redcaps. While Red Rhea had placed a clear deadline on her ritual and the frat-caps could be addressed whenever, I knew that the bloodthirsty ogre's were not going to honor our schedule and could still show up again at any moment.

So, before I would help in the stacks, I ran the errands that I had originally meant to that morning. I stopped into the Dick's Sporting-Goods and bought some armor—motocross helmet and mask, knee pads, elbow pads, and an Evo-shield vest. The vest had been a fascinating piece of technology. Designed to reduce injury to little league players, the Evo-Shield starts as a gel filled back and chest covering that must be donned swiftly when first used, then exposure to the air causes the gel to set into a hard plastic, form fitted to the wearer.

Next, I drove over to the Kroger, to provoke some shoppers and thresh some wyrd. It was the day before Thanksgiving, yet last minute shoppers were not as on edge as I had expected. I lamented that there would not be any rageaholic meetings at the community center for many more hours. I also took the set back as a sign that I truly had become far to complacent with the ease of foraging wyrd in Sin City.

Then I did return to help my team for a few hours at Sheaves & Leaves.

Still feeling a mild longing, I did eventually go to the community center for the four o'clock anger management meeting. It was an especially beneficial group session from my point of view.

So, afterwards, I employed some of the excess wyrd I had just winnowed and called my manager at Elements. I let Dave know that I would not be in to Elements for my shifts that night or the next. The boss man was tucked-off, however thanks to my magical manipulations, I did not get fired. I still was not sure how much longer I would bother working at Elements, so that was no reason to burn that bridge.

When I had failed to forage at Kroger, I had considered skipping my plan to hit Vegas one last time before confronting the 'caps. Then, while failing to uncover anything useful in the rare books, I thought that I might be able to learn something in the Red Court territories that could not be fond in Ariadne's collection. Which is why I had to skip Elements that night, there was no way to get to Las Vegas and back in time to tend bar for pretentious young mid-westerners.

Thus, when I returned again to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves, I had Tegan lead me back to our oak haven. The curvy bloomwell had needed a break by then anyway; she had not paused in the over six hours since she had started looking for an alternative to Red Rhea's plan.

Miss Bramblerose's emerald-eyes seemed dry and puffy, as if she had not been blinking enough. I considered trying to comfort the lass, but by the time we reached our Hollow, Tegan had regained her second wind and she eagerly sped back to the Freehold's books.

From my conversation with Pashmi the day before, I had concluded that I should just pick one or two casinos for gambling, that way I could maximize comped rooms and focus on the free entertainment that I preferred to receive. I was enjoying scoping out the various resorts, though, so I decided to put off selecting a primary gambling hall for a little while longer.

The Bellagio's poker players provided great profit. Instead of slots, I intentionally lost a little at roulette. I was still worried that the Mlife tracking system would flag me as never leaving any money at the casinos. Plus, the people inspecting the Mlife reports could be spirit-touched or vampires, so I thought it best to offer a small tithe, as it were. The Bellagio gave me a one night room voucher and a dinner for two at Noodles, a nice little Asian restaurant.

After dark, I entered the Mirage. Following my standard modus operandi, I wandered around the building a little, getting the lay of the place and a sense of who might be around. I had foraged as much wyrd as I wanted before arriving at the Silver Duchy's turf. Not surprisingly, I spotted many more fae working there than any other casino, except for Mandalay Bay. The showgirl with fire instead of hair even smiled at me. One of the white tigers on display, also clearly IDed me. I could not tell if the majestic beast's unwavering gaze had just been a warn—as a bouncer might—actually challenging me, or just playing around. I decided to take his fixed stare and purposeful head nod as a caution.

Like the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay, the Mirage has a small private zoo-type attraction: Siegfried & Roy's Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. Personally, I felt that "Secret Garden" was a bit on the nose as a descriptor. Regardless, I showed my Duchy d-Or lanyard to the ticket taker lady with black rubbery-skin and tentacles instead of hair and fingers. The woman's large eyes inspected my pass, then she smiled to reveal solid bony plates in place of teeth. "Thank you for visiting sir. You will find the member's only entrance between the first two tiger's cages."

I asked for and received directions to the Duchy's concierge. Then I stepped into the Duchy d'Argent and. It took me a few minutes to make it clear, to the seemingly made of glitter concierge, what I was requesting. Eventually the sparkly fellow said he would see what could be done.

"I greatly appreciate that." I handed the man a roll of dollar coins. "For your time and efforts. I shall occupy myself in the mortal casino at the Texas Hold'em tables and return hear if I do not hear from you within a couple of hours?" I received another appreciative and agreeable smile.

Poker at the Mirage provided less profit than the Bellagio, although much more exciting play. Which I expected, as I was being extra cautious with when I cast my glamours. Even so, I gained another dinner for two, as well as two tickets to the upcoming prize fight—Pashmi was very likely to want to go to that, at least. A lithe, muscular youth in hotel uniform approached me as I left the table. His skin was covered in yellow, white, and red scales in diamond patterns and he wore a Mirage server's uniform. The reptilian lad gave me a message to see the concierge at my earliest convenience.

I detoured just long enough to leave some money at the roulette table.

The Duchy d-Argent sprawled across a wide tract of packed earth and sand, laid out around an irregular series of gladiator style fighting pits. The pits came in a variety of shapes and sizes. There was an underground level , however that was mostly used by fighters to arrange and prepare for matches. Above ground, surrounding and interspersed with the pits where groves of shade palms, or decorative mosaic fountains. There were also many and varied tent stalls, offering games of chance (all similar to the Pleasure Gardens of d'Or), various vendors (of food mostly), or for private rental (by hour, day, month, and so on).

At the Silver Duchy's concierge pavilion, I was informed that my request for an audience with the Duchy's leader Duke Yaya-Ti, had been granted for the following afternoon. One of the very few things that I had discovered at Ariadne's earlier in the day was reference that claimed a spirit-touched known by the name Yaya-Ti had witnessed an unusual Child's Rite. Pashmi had also told me the names of who was in charge of what aspects of the Red Court, I did not remember much of it, although I did recall the Yaya-Ti connection. I was surprised to get to see the actual Duke, especially on such short notice, I had expected to maybe get to see the man's secretary or whatever he used, perhaps a court historian. So, I made several notes to make certain that I came prepared the next day.

Then I arranged with the concierge to have a care package put together for me to travel with a ways. I loved having money enough to just pay people to make things happen for me.

I also stopped by the row of about a half dozen tent-booths that acted as money changers. I found the vendor that would accept my Mirage poker chips and cashed them in. In addition to US currency, I selected several leather cords of exotic silver coins.

Once back at Amy's oak, several of my fellows tried to question me about the thermal shoulder pack that I had carried in. I brushed those questions aside, "What bag?" I knew the scavengers sensed food and was not about to give what I had to them.

Then I countered to distract, "I'll be able to help more with researching an alternative to the Child's Rite in through the late morning, or early afternoon, tomorrow. But, I have to be at d'Argent in the afternoon to speak with a dignitary that might have some answers for us about the ritual." That got their minds of my parcel.

Not only did my news send the group into another talk about their current hobbyhorse, it also promised the potential for an even newer distraction. I left the discussion as it started, to stow my goods in my room.

Before I could sleep, I had to "decorate" a little. I placed some cash around the room, quietly asking my pretty dryad caretaker/landlord to keep my wealth a secret between the two of us. Most of what I wanted to keep in the haven was the silver coins (with square holes in their centers and threaded onto knotted leather cords) hung as a sort of bunting. One of the gold coin bracelets I had collected from the Pleasure Gardens, I draped on an interesting stone that I had found in Red Rock Canyon and set on my desk, next to a k'nid tooth. The room still felt bare, however it also already felt more like mine than my dorm room had ever been.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a Dramatis Personae, to help keep track of characters and name changes, may be viewed at: u/5451641/GitariArt . This link shall appear at the end of every other chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been reposting this rewrite 1 chp/wk, in order to allow my wonderful beta reader time to clean-up each chapter. Unfortunaly, my generous beta has been delayed by real life. The good news (from my POV, at least) is that my intrepid beta insists that she will get through all of the following chapters. That said, since I have already started posting the sequill to this story, I have decided to post the remaining chapters of Great Fight "as is" and replace them with my delightful beta's corrects, as they arrive.

I apologize for any grammatical errors that you encounter from this note, forward. Please be patient and they will be corrected ASAP. I sincerely hope you can enjoy the story, anyway. END OF AUTHoR'S NOTE

…

Day 17: Thursday, November 24th (Thanksgiving)

I woke, showered, dressed for hiking, and then breakfasted with the primary members of our oaken commune—Freerunner, Gavin Granitbane, Iron Wade the Man of Steel, Raion-ju, Sean Tallwind, and Tegan Bramblerose. Amaryllis, as usual was present, yet did not eat with us, and did prepared and served what had become our most common morning meal, oatmeal with many nuts and berries. There was no cream or brown sugar, however there was plenty of syrup and honey.

Since our large black panther man had not been helping the rest of us with research at Sheaves & Leaves, I asked him, "Rai, could you hang around the oak for a few hours, to walk me to Ariadne's later?"

A pause where I wondered if big guy was thinking or if he had even heard me, then he shrugged one shoulder and said, "Sure, the project I'm working on should be done around then anyway."

I was stunned for a good five minutes. That had been the most Rai had ever said directly to me. Also, I had no idea he had been working on a project at the oak. A glance around at the shaking heads and shrugs of our companions verified they were also unaware of the stoic predatory man's activity.

"I thought you weren't going to the Silver Duchy until the afternoon?" Tegan's delicate left eyebrow hade raised in a steep crimson arch.

I nodded as I chewed and swallowed. "Absolutely, and I do want to help at Ariadne's before I go, too. I just have my own project that I need to work on first." I narrowed my eyes and waggled my own delicate eyebrows in an overly theatrical gesture to indicate that I was mocking Rai's mysterious ways.

When Rai, Amy, and I were the only ones left in the oak, I heard peculiar sounds at the sharp-toothed man's door. Rai was making some clanking noises in his room, whish seemed especially incongruous in the dryad's oak. Of course, I could only hear the metallic noises when I happened to pass right by the former engineer's door and since I had needed to go out of my way to casually press my pointy ear to that door, I knew there was no casual way for me to mention what I had heard. Amy did not seem discomforted, so I assumed all was well and went about my own business.

The rest of our tree-housemates had all gone to aid the research efforts, except for Dark Sol, who was presumably still with Spring-heeled Jack. Also, Lightning Rust-head, who was possibly (hopefully) lost in the Thorny Briar. So, I had peace in which to compose. I had been no good as an architect student and I had really enjoyed the Contemporary Poetry class that I had taken, which were the two biggest reasons that I had switch majors to English. My instructors had been very encouraging about my own poetry as well. Plus, my little stanza for Chef Rosa had been received so well, that I figured I should try some more.

Besides I knew that my complimentary tickets to rooms, food, or entertainment in Vegas would not be very impressive gifts for a high ranking spirit-touched of the Western Territories. And I absolutely believed that I needed to present the man with a gift for agreeing to see me on just a days notice. Since I did not know much about Duke Yaya-Ti specifically, I tried to make educated guesses based on what little I had heard. I also worked with broad, complimentary metaphors. It took me many drafts, however in the end I had a poem that I was quite pleased with and believed the Duke would appreciate.

Raion-ju had been slumped back in his preferred cushioned chair in our living room. If the massive fellow had been napping, my entering the space woke him with a twitch of triangle-ears and opening of slit reflective-green eyes. Rai was ready to go and offered no comment regarding his project, so I left him to his privacy. Then I followed the silent of mouth and foot man once more through the crisp autumn air and crisper crackling foliage of the Edge Maze. Burning leaf and warm cider smells accompanied us yet again, as I my passage made noise where my agile guide's did not.

Rai got me to large Victorian mansion Briar-side of Ariadne's Freehold sometime between 10:30 and 11:00 am. My guide-companion had seemed oblivious to the dark-red thermal satchel that I had brought along, which I pretended as him respecting my privacy, instead of ignoring me outright. As we entered the garden my felinoid ally wandered over to a fruit tree, with a handful of lemurs in its branches, and slumped down at its base with no comment or further consideration to me. Thick clouds promised rain and I had been somewhat curious as to how exactly Mr. Raion-ju would react to getting rained on. In my imagination it was a very funny sight.

I spied Dr. Peter Dionysus on one of the few stone benches protected by an eave and paused to say hello. The faun was congenial as ever. I also reach into my thermal basket and produce the gourmet-vegan salad that I had selected from the Duchy d'Argent's chefs.

"This is for you." I said handing over the elegantly boxed salad to the good doctor with a set of what seemed to be bamboo utensils. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Dionysus blinked goat-eyes over the tops of his reading glasses and accepted the gift with a bemused smile. I zipped up my carrier and headed into the building. I was certain that the biologist had been expecting me to ask for some information or action in compensation. Instead, I had been taking a longer view and trying to build up some general goodwill. Plus, I got a kick out of the confusion my spontaneous generosity was likely to cause.

I proceeded straight to Sheaves & Leaves mundane front desk and greeted the charming blond receptionist. "Hello Philomena." I placed my thermal bag on her desk.

Philomena's aquiline face brightened into a smile as she reciprocated, "Hello, Tommy, you look well."

"How very nice of you to say." I gestured to the parcel. "I have brought a small Thanksgiving treat."

Philomena's springy blond curls dangled and bobbed to one side as she tilted her head in confusion. I realized then that the clerk may not be aware of the Real World date, or even the American holiday. I enjoyed the absurdity of my gift all the more. It was almost as god as hearing Philomena's delightful lisp, which so far had not entered the conversation.

"I had imagined," I went on explaining something other than the thing that I believe the lady wanted explained, "that the pastries contained within would best suit you, while the sushi—the fussiest dish I could think of—would go to Alistair." I shrugged. "However, I trust you shall divvy the dining fairly with Mr. Tomes as you see fit."

"Now it isth you who isth being too kind." Philomena said as she started to look into the satchel.

Bingo! There was that enticing lisp. I left before I aloud myself to enter into a protracted conversation with the cute girl just to get her to say 'S' sounds. I did have obligation, after all.

I located and checked in with my colleagues that had been researching alternatives to the Child's Rite. After getting an outline of what they had found thus far, I tried my hand at selecting useful materials. My natural talents with research had been greatly enhanced by my allies having done much of the initial sorting. Thus, after an hour or two, the seven of us sat in a conference-style room, a little larger than the one I had discovered earlier, with books along the wall and a table with chairs in the middle. Rai had joined us by then, to sit in the corner and rub and brush at the wet spots in his hair and clothes. I tried to make it look like I was smiling at whatever I had been reading.

While the damp-panther guy dealt with his moisture issue, the rest of us read and discussed possible meanings and options for another hour, or so. In the end, we had found concrete support for Red Rhea's claims. We found no alternative options along the lines for which we had hoped, which was disheartening to say the least. However, we did find a small glimmer of hope. An alternate description of the Child's Rite that the scholar-queen had described: this one said to terrify and harm the child sacrifice, rather than terrify and kill. I had been pleased, in so far as the maim a kid version seemed to lend validity to the story I had read that pointed me towards Duke Yaya.

Our cabal still had one day before Red Rhea would perform the ritual and we held out a bit more hope that we may discover something more. To that end, our two most physically scarred members, Iron Wade and Mr. Tallwind, and our two most animalistic, fuzzy Freerunner and quiet Rai, all said they would continue with the book research, while headed to the Duchy d'Argent. By then I had explained my intention for attending the audience with Duke Yaya to my cohorts and the rough-cut stony Mr. Granitbane and delightfully supple Bramblerose volunteered to act as my entourage.

Tegan led our trio on another uneventful journey through the Shifting Briar. The rain outside Ariadne's had again not been heavy enough to penetrate the thick canopy of the Wilder Wood that we pass through on our way to Amy's oak. Then, after a few minutes to select a fresher wardrobe, the three of us used our haven's magic door and completed our trip through a sunny and dry Nevada day.

Our athletic dryad ally had pouted about Rai and I leaving her uninhabited earlier and did so again as Gavin, Tegan, and I prepared to leave once more.

"I thought you said that we had made better defenses?" I cajoled the statuesque wood-ish girl. "And that we had made it harder for anyone else to even accidentally find this place? I'm sure you'll be okay for a couple more hours, right?"

Amy's big maple-grown eyes started to well up with light-amber tears.

Thankfully Tegan stepped forward and gently guided the dryad off to the side, speaking in hushed tones. I probably would have stayed in the oak forever, if hat would keep the lovely tree-spirit from crying. After a few minutes, though, Amy let us leave. The dryad was not happy, nor was she mad, however.

At the Silver Duchy, I headed straight to the door that I had been told of the day before, my two allies followed. The door was in one of a very few walls that could occasionally be seen in the tent-bizarre style duchy. A brief knock and we three were admitted by one of the Duke's assistants, who in turn, escorted us through cool dark stone-halls. The few doorways that we passed used dense beaded curtains rather than actual doors.

As we walked I asked a couple of etiquette questions. Then my trio was shown through one of the beaded curtain of silver, red, white, and black beads. As we passed through, I made certain to tip our escort (one of my new silver coins), apologizing that I was short of a more aesthetic gratuity. The officiant accepted the coin appreciatively, yet seemed to more pleased with my apology.

Our guide bade us wait once we entered the fairly Spartan audience chamber. I took in the room as the entry curtain gently rattled to stillness. The meeting room had a low stone ceiling that helped contain a comforting warm-haze. The walls seemed to be made of various blocks of polished sandstone in hues of yellow, orange, white, and black. Small narrow windows high in one wall did little for air circulation or light. Instead ornate braziers hung from the ceiling by chains filling the room with a dull red glow, incense fumes, and more heat than was technically necessary. In addition to the miasma of incense there had been a distinct musky undertone that I could not pinpoint at first, yet associated with zoos.

The furnishings consisted mainly of large cushions in bright colors, strewn about the edges of the space. I believe there was also a sideboard of some kind , although that was position past the Duke, so I did not get a good look. Duke Yaya-Ti, however sat in a large stone backless-throne, I think it was white marble and shaped like a big "U" on legs.

There was a handful, or so, of other changelings—including our escort—who lingered around. They all stood and seemed to have the bearings of servitors to the Duke, while also conveying a distinct sense of superiority to me and my allies. We did not receive introduction to them. Which was just as well, as I was too nervous to pay the lesser courtiers much heed.

I was officially announced to Duke Yaya-Ti. He sat on the throne, on a low dais, in the center of the room. The Duke's presence was so grand, that I do not recall many specific details of the throne or his attire. I know that Yaya-Ti had the body of a man and the head of a white tiger. I remember thinking "ah, that's the musk" followed quickly by "keep that thought to yourself, if you do nothing else Tom, keep that thought to yourself". I believe the Duke's chest was bare and that he wore a kilt-like garment, as I have seen in history books with pictures of Egyptian hieroglyphs.

Duke Yaya-Ti cast is luminous, golden eyes lazily upon me. Before I realized I was expected to start, I had time to reflect that his markings were definitely not those of the tiger from the casino the night before. I gathered my wits as best I could and opened with my offering.

I had imagined that I would simply hand the poem to the noble, or a functionary to pass on. A tilt of the Duke's broad head conveyed that I was expected to read my composition aloud. I screwed up my courage and prefaced my recitation. "In appreciation for the honor of this audience I have composed this ode. I feel it only fair that I apologize in advance, for recitation is not my strong suit and that I have never actually read this work aloud before."

I then focused on the words on the page in front of me and read my poem. When I finished, the large languid cat eyes blinked slowly at me. Then Yaya-Ti opened his hand. A functionary conveyed the paper from me to the Duke.

Duke Yaya Ti and Rai could easily have an inscrutability contest. I was beginning to worry that the Duke did not speak and I was not confident any of his staff could, or would, interpret. After looking over the poem and handing it back to the functionary (to file, presumably), the luminous slit eyes stared at me once more.

I plunged on with as much deference as I could. "Lord," the escort that had led my group in, had verified that I should address the Duke as such, "we have come to you regarding what we have heard referred to as the Child's Rite."

The Duke chuffed as tigers do. "That is a grim subject." His voice was lower than Barry White's. I felt it vibrating my innards more than heard it.

"Yes," I agreed, "we have heard that it is the only way for a court to dissuade the Folk from taking mortal children from territory. The Mid-West Court was told that all of the other courts performed this ritual. Is this something the Red Court practices? Or is there another way?"

"There are not so many children in the territories of the Red Court." Duke Yaya-Ti rumbled. "And people go missing from them for many reasons. The Red Court does not overly concern itself with such things."

It took me a heart beat to pull my mind out of the entrancing tones of the tiger-mans voice and process what he said, then compile a new thought to speak. "The Salamander Court received this information from a scholar calling herself Red Rhea. Do you know if she is a reliable source?"

"I have heard Red Rhea speak," more slow and measured ultra-bass notes, "at a conference. She was a pre-eminent scholar on the subject of Domain Rituals."

My heart sank a little. "We" I carried on, indicating Tegan and Gavin with nods, "have found documentation that suggests that this ritual can be fulfilled either by killing or just harming the chosen child. Do you know if harming the child is as effective?"

"I have seen the ritual performed successfully and the child lived." the Duke paused, conveying even more gravity. "The child was quite mangled, though."

I saw Tegan's pleading look in my peripheral vision and interpreted it aloud, "Could the child not be healed afterwards?"

The Duke cocked his furry white and black head slightly. "To the best of my knowledge, it was not attempted," he said as if it were a novel idea.

"Does your Lordship," I tried to remember my manners, as I pressed for clarity, "know if healing the child after completing the ritual would weaken or undo the Child's Rite?"

"I can not imagine why it would," Duke Yaya-Ti said, "although, it is possible."

"If a terminally ill child was selected, would that affect the ritual or its purpose?" I was just trying to cover my bases while I had the Duke's large-cat ear.

The noble considered, "As long as the child was strong enough to transport themselves to the location and had wits enough to understand the danger and pain… then the Rite would most likely be fulfilled."

I looked to my comrades for anything they would care to ask. Each of the duo shook their heads. I turned to Duke Yaya-Ti, expressed my appreciation to him for sharing his time and experience, then bowed, and my group were shown out.

The three of us talked on our way back to Red Rock Canyon. Gavin was disgusted and kept his thick arms crossed tight over his broad chest most of the way, "So, our only choice is to try and convince that crazy Rhea lady to traumatize and cripple a kid, instead of killing him." It was a statement more than a question.

"Or her." Tegan said dully.

That seemed to piss Gavin off even more. I did not make a distinction, kids were kids and none of them deserve anything like we were talking about.

"Yeah, well," I said thoughtfully, "I can see why someone might prefer to just kill the kid, rather than leave them in a brutalized state. I'm not enthusiastic about either option, I just see the logic." I shook my head trying to clear away unwanted images. "At least Tegan can probably heal any damage done, after the ritual is completed."

Tegan shook her auburn waves slowly and grimaced. "I doubt it. My Breath of Comfort counteracts fatigue, hunger, and maybe some blunt trauma. Real serious wounds are… well, I feel like I used to know that glamour, but I just can't seem to remember the secrets or trick of it. And I have been trying, a lot."

Mr. G and I nodded in sympathy. It seems we all had lost glamour lore in our escape back to the Real World. I was glad to have dreamembered Summer's Might, however I too still felt that there were more faery magics that I had once known.

"Maybe we can get one of the court people to do it?" the clay colored bouncer said half heartedly. "Some of them must have worked out the harder glamours."

I could see that none of us felt particularly confident that we could find someone both capable and willing.

"Well," I tried my proposal again, "if the child was terminal before the ritual, then magic healing might fix that as well. Either way, I still thing the kid might be more willing."

"Assuming the kid is allowed to make any choice. Knowing what's going on might mess up the ritual." Miss B was not enthused, then shrugged and sighed in resignation. "I suppose I like these options over just allowing a murder."

By the time we had made our way back to our oak haven, we had agreed that we would try a little more research, just incase. However, time was running out. Mostly none of us could think of any other option and researching at least felt like we were doing something instead of just sitting around waiting for a terrible thing to occur. If nothing else came to light by the next day, then we would try to push our "maim and heal" option with the Salamander Court.

At our safe-haven, however, the three of us desert travelers had to refocus our attentions. Iron Wade the Man of Steal, Sean Tallwind, Raion-ju, and Freerunner were all at the oak, rather the Freehold as they had last told us they would be. And the four men had been talking.

The short version of the resulting conversation was as follows.

"We want to deal with the redcaps." Sean stated in his gruff manner.

"Yeah, we figure the Red Rhea thing isn't 'til tomorrow," Wade agreed in his own raspy manner, "so we should be able to finish this tonight."

"Especially," the spindle-fingered one supported, "since we have narrowed down three likely targets to stake out."

Tegan tossed up her hands, "Why not, it's not like this Child's Right thing is likely to get any better, really."

Gavin just nodded agreement with the petite bloomwell.

I had been briefly at odds with the idea that we were simply going to drop yet another pursuit for a more appealing distraction. Except that this distraction was not really that much more appealing. Ultimately, I decided that it was something that needed doing anyway and would feel even more like accomplishing something than more research. "Sure, lets clear the old business, as it were."

'Runner had just mostly sided with the majority and Rai did not offer any input as usual.

So, we retired to our rooms long enough to prepare for battle as best we could. I slipped my pads and Evo-Shield vest on under my cheap, winter duds and grabbed my motocross helmet and facemask. As armor goes I knew that I could have afforded better, but had no idea how to get Kevlar, or the like, in time. I had gotten Gavin to help me don the Evo-Shield vest the first time, so now it was a form fitted hard shell—miracle of modern chemistry. At least, it was sturdy enough to reduce damage from line drives and sliding home.

Plus, the Evo-Shield and knee and elbow pads are easy to wear concealed. So, I would not seem to be looking for a fight to any casual observers. The helmet would stand out, so I planned to wait and put it on when I thought I needed to hide my face. I assumed the attached dust filter would help obscure my identity. I had considered goggles as well, then decided that they would hinder my vision too more than the helmet already did.

Amy again protested being left unguarded. This time my appeal worked. "We have to all go, Amy. There's a lot of redcaps and they already threatened our Mortal World territory. If we don't stop them now, then they really might try and track us back here one day."

The dryad very much approved of that logic.

By the time Tegan and Rai had led us all back through the foreboding darkness of the Briar, to the Sheaves & Leaves parking lot, the rain had stopped. From there, we split into our prearranged teams and drove our respective vehicles to our assigned venues. Mr. Tallwind and Wade had convinced the rest of us that the frat-hole redcaps would most likely show up at one of three bars that were al fairly close to each other. The wrinkly man had claimed to have come to the deduction from analyzing the various rumors that the rest of us had gathered. So, it is possible the grumpy old fart did have some detective skills.

There had been some discussion of weaponry on our trek through the Thorns. I kept my "fighting" gloves—leather gloves, coin rolls, and length of cold-iron chain—In my pockets, still trying to avoid looking like I was going to a rumble. Rai, on the other hand, wore his project from earlier—a set of steel-plated gauntlets with cold-iron embedded in the knuckles. Wade had glamour suped-up a leaf blower per Gavin's request, to theoretically blow the blood-soaked hats off the enemy ogres. The rest of the gang relied on their preferred weapons, Wade had his saber, Tegan a couple of throwing knives she had bought on one of her Vegas trips, and the last two planned to use bats and crowbars.

Thanksgiving night was generally slow, even for sports bars, in spite of it being such a big football day and most people having eaten their holiday meals early. Even so, that did not mean empty. The three bars that Tallwind had identified as the redcaps' main haunts were all in a row about two miles apart from each other. Freerunner, Wade, and Sean took 'Runner's hack and staked out the largest one, a Dave and Buster's in the middle of the line. Raion-ju with Tegan, on his Suzuki, took O'Malley's, a privately own bar to the east. Leaving Gavin and me in my Festiva, to stake out The Pub, to the west. We settled into our respective parking lots around 8:00 pm.

I thought the sight of delicate five-foot-three Miss Bramblerose clinging to the massive back of Rai as he leaned into his crotch-rocket, was one of the funniest things I had seen in a while. Although I was a little jealous of the big man for getting to have that partner pressed into his back. Unfortunately, we all agreed that every location needed at least a team of two and the only other members of our party small enough to share the Suzuki with Rai were 'Runner and myself and both of us insisted on driving our own vehicles.

All of us had been working on a sort of autopilot since we resolved to simply take the fight on for real. Mr. Granitbane sat in talking about whatever was popped to mind, stretching and flexing his rocky muscles as best he could in my little black Festiva's passenger seat, and not really noticing me. I spent the time in wait trying to fix in my mind how to proceed once the fight started.

Part of me knew that fights could not be pre-fought in the mind, yet I thought the practice might be calming. I had never really been in a fight as a mortal. I fought my older brother as kids, but that was never truly dangerous and he tended to ward off any would be bullies as we were growing up. I felt like I might have had more experience in battle from my time in Aeolian's thrall, however those memories were still hiding and I doubted that I wanted them back in any event.

Eventually, I resorted to reviewing my journal to see how I had come to that spot. As you are reading this tale, you now have a greater sense of it as well.

A little past ten o'clock, the scumbags showed up at O'Malley's. By then we were all psyched up and had executed whatever glamour each of us had wanted to use. Per the plan, Tegan texted the rest of us and Freerunner and I drove to her and Rai's position.

When we all arrived, we quickly finalized our plan of attack. Each of us still acting with mechanical (Tegan's was perhaps military) efficiency, we disabled the 'caps crappy Chevy—sliced tires and plugged exhaust. Then we busted a window and moved their excess baseball bats into my Festiva's hatch—we did not want the redcaps getting any additional weaponry, if possible.

As we dealt with the ogre's car, Gavin heard thumping in their hatch. My first thought was it would be another poor dog for the sick bastards to gut. Then the Man of Steal glamoured open the lock and it turned out to be poofy-headed Lightning Russel, bound and gagged.

Once we got the buffoon's mouth freed he explained, "Once I got out of Amy's trap, I split through the Briar and made it back to Athens. So, I went to the rental place. Then a few hours ago I heard a knock at the front door and when I opened it, one of the fuckers hit me in the head with a brick and dragged me out of the house," he rubbed the visible welt on his head with one green-tinted hand, "then they beat on me for while, then tied me up and threw me in there." By then he was loose and standing, gesturing to the battered Chevy.

Sean seemed a little satisfied to hear that Rusty got smacked in the same way he had. I was torn, I did not like Russ and wanted to punch him hard a couple of times myself. Only, I had accepted the mooching jerk into our group as much as anybody and I really did not want any of my allies to suffer the way the 'caps made people suffer.

At least, Lightly Rust-berries abduction proved that my troupe had been right and the frat-holes were escalating our animosities.

Meanwhile, our O'Malley's look outs, Rai and Tegan, confirmed there were eight male redcaps and one female changeling that went into the bar. Tegan described the female as, "She seemed to be some kind of darkling."

I had come across some references to darklings in all the studying we had been doing at Sheaves & Leaves and fair Tegan's words jarred my memory. As redcaps are generally ogres, devoted to destruction and depend on physical might. Darkling were the spirit-touched that favored morbidity and all forms of decay. Our group's own erstwhile Dark Sol was certainly a darkling, however we had no reason to think that the redcaps' moll had any similar glamours. So, the best we could do was to try and mentally prepare for extra creepiness from the non-redcap opponent.

Each of our gang geared up and spread out spread out around the parking lot, ducking behind cars. Russell and 'Runner took up a couple of the frat-caps' own bats. Gavin unloaded the modified leaf blower from my Festiva and strapped on, then glamoured his hard red-orange clay skin into its harder grey-stone aspect. I got my helmet and mask on and cast my Summer's Might glamour—it drained more wyrd than my other glamours tended to and the fickle nature of the Gyr meant that I became stronger, yet no where near the mountain sundering strong for which I had hoped. Wade drew his saber and used a glamour to melt into the shadows. Sean slipped on a shirt—Gavin had been surprised was one of his—and grew to the size of a grizzly.

Tegan concealed herself near the bar's entrance. Rai and Gavin were near the redcap's Chevy, unable to easily hide their large frames. The rest of us were hidden behind cars around the parking lot. The overgrown Mr. Tallwind entered O'Malley's, just long enough to taunt our quarry, then he ran out and stood on their car.

The fight was short, as fights always seem to be. It started as my side had planned—the redcaps came outside, stayed relatively clumped together, and went towards the obvious targets of our two large and one giant men. Gavin taunted the 'caps and blew one of their hats off with his glamoured-up lawn machine. All while, the rest of us moved in from all sides and made our respective swipes.

Sweet smelling Tegan employed her bloomwell and other charming gifts to convince all the mortal bystanders to retreat back into the bar. So much for accessing any on-the-fly wyrd for either side. The alluring auburn haired beauty explained later that she had been more concerned about being identified by onlookers, than using innocent people as tools. I do not know why none of my allies took my advice to wear masks.

The cap-less foe went to his knees immediately. Raw, exposed, bloody skull seemed to throb slightly. Apparently, part of be twisted into redcap involved having been scalped and it never healing. The exposed ogre had half curled up on the asphalt in shock and fear.

I had on my leather gloves, with makeshift cold-iron knuckles on my right hand. I connected with a solid blow to the back of my chosen opponent's head. My cold-iron left blistering welts the frat-hole skin, although the villain's hat remained on, and his attention turned to me.

Then the enemy's heavy-metal looking girlfriend screamed. The too thin, too pale, woman in a leather mini skirt and jacket, had hung back. She stood nearer to the edge of the parking area than our ambush ring. The magic in her wail marked her as a banshee. When the terrible scream came, the woman's thigh length wild white hair flew up to tower over her. The banshee's terrible wail chilled most of us, yet not so much that we could not fight. Except for gentle hirsute 'Runner, who fell back in a completely defensive posture, small eyes wild, for several long moments.

Our agile ROTC cadet took a few measured strides on muscle-toned legs, toward the banshee-bitch and lept into a Lucy Liu worthy round house kick. The screamer was knocked back, right into a baseball bat swung from a moving shadow. Dark Sol appeared briefly wielding the bat, winked at Tegan, then wrapped herself in shadow again. The banshee lay disturbingly still.

No time could be spared to contemplate when Sol had arrived. I was just glad that the enemy's creepy rocker-chick was down and the redcaps had to deal with our creepy goth-chick instead.

My opponent punched me in the chest. I realized several things all at once. I should probably pay more attention to right in front of me, rather than the whole battle. If I did not have the Evo-Shield, the blow would have hurt. The eight 'caps were tougher than us, or my haven-mates were not as skilled as I had thought. The redcaps might not be bright enough to think about fleeing, even if we could get the upper hand. My gang needed to gain some advantage, anyway, and that was probably not going to be by physical means.

I poured wyrd into my faery light, causing the luminous glow to flare bright, erratic, and distracting—like high beams in rearview mirrors as if they covered me. Thus, making it even harder to try and focus on, or near, me. Yet, difficult to look at anything else if I was within sight. Also, as I fought I started shouting to our foes. As I saw one of their number fall, I counted it off. Then I told the blood-thirsty maniacs to leave Athens. Even if it did not demoralize the brutal bastards, then my taunts at least made them assess their allies, thus distracting them ever so slightly.

"There's eight of you at the moment, that can all get out of town safe! If you go right now!"

The cap-less one started scrambling on the ground, trying to retrieve his hat. Two of the others tried, and failed, to drag Gavin down with tackling maneuvers.

The rocky weightlifter shook off one of his opponents. Iron Wade stepped from the shadows and stabbed the one Gavin had just dislodged. Blood sprayed. Tegan adopted a demure pose and spoke to the redcap that had rushed her, batting her long lashes and pouting her pucker-y lips, and her attacker turned to attack our weathered fencer instead. Later, Ms. Bramblerose claimed that she had tried to get the redcap to attack his own leader, but the magic did not take hold strong enough.

The rest of us on both sides exchanged minor swings and partial hits.

Raion-ju suddenly came alive. When our enemies had first started to move, two of them aimed for our large predatory ally. Rai roared, more panther than man, his normally soft appearance not only tensed to pure sinewy muscle, he even seemed to expand with greater bulk. Rai moved like wind and water—dodged one attacker as he backhanded the other, with his new cold-iron gauntlet. The panther-man's stricken foe slammed against a car, winded long enough to let Rai spin fluidly to his other opponent. Rai's fist came up to his new foe's jaw with such force that the redcap flew backwards over a car and slammed against the wall of O'Malley's. Bones cracked at the blow and again against the bricks. Rai did not slow, he just followed through and struck his first opponent again. That redcap fell to the ground unmoving.

"Six! You only got six left! Leave Athens while you can!" I counted them off for the others, as I struck ineffectually at my foe once more. I would be horrified later. My adrenalin kept me from processing what exactly was happening.

Most of the redcaps concentrated on Gavin, Wade, and Rai. Tallwind's increased size could not convince our enemies that he was a particular threat in combat. Although, my foe—frustrated from trying to see through the blazing light show I had become—instead turned on the cowering 'Runner and the extra large and easier to hit man of a million wrinkles. We three did little to slow our shared foe.

Light-head Russell tried to flank one of Gavin's opponents, but slipped in the ever widening pool of blood and fell hard to the asphalt. Iron Wade had tried a glamour to scare a couple of the 'caps, however they were not phased. Afterwards, when I was feeling kindly, I proposed that the time the redcaps must have spent with the banshee had inured them to fright inducing magics. When I was feeling less charitable, I proposed that Wade should not have bothered with a glamour that required telling a story, while in the middle of combat.

One of the blood-heads bit into Gavin's cinder block shoulder, gauging the stone hide. Granitbane threw the biter into one of the other 'caps. The one who could not find his hat, sprung up screaming madly. The manic creature launched himself at our living wall in a berserk rage. Gavin struck the wild one away with a stony fist to the chest.

The two Wade had tried to scare laughed at him. One was distracted as another of his comrades had been flung into him by Gavin. Mr. Man of Steal moved like a machine and the light glinted as his saber flicked out, slicing through the soft parts of his remaining redcap's throat. More blood sprayed and coated the pavement and nearby cars

There was so much blood, much more than there should have been… in so many senses of the phrase. "Four!" I counted and laughed like the Sesame Street vampire to keep from gagging, "Ha! Ha! Ha! Flee and we will give you a day to get out of town!"

All four remaining frat-caps were wounded. Two of them went berserk, one towards Gavin and the other went for Rai. The hatless berserker and the only calm redcap did, finally, tried to flee. The calm one got away. The berserker's neck snapped when struck by the body of Gavin's last opponent.

It was over, save for the leaving, the conflict might have taken two whole minutes. Raion-ju used one of the fallen blood-caps to write a couple of words in Spanish on the redcap's Chevy. I wondered if the reason Rai was usually so quiet and inattentive was because English was his second language. I dismissed the premise, as the big man had no accent, so he was fluent enough in English to have understood the rest of us had he cared to.

I moved through the carnage as gingerly as possible and collected the all of the enemies hats that I could find. I did not vomit, I came close, but I held it together. I was not completely aware of my own motivations at that point, I am fairly certain I was experiencing some post traumatic shock. I believe that I was worried that the redcaps could come back if their sanguinated- chapeaus were left with them. Afterwards, I would keep the spoils as potential trade goods. I knew that Dr. Dionysus had an interest in blood, so reason he or other spirit-touched might garter for the caps.

One redcap had escaped. The banshee was breathing, shallowly. The rest of the ogres were very dead. I cannot say that I felt bad that the monsters died, however I was glad that I had personally not killed anyone. Then I had a thought about the power that the 'caps had represented in that area and how we turned it. I felt good for the neighborhood mortals and wondered a little if there would be some sort of power vacuum.

Meanwhile, black-clad and dangerous Dark Sol barely acknowledged any of the rest of us, before she called out for Spring-Heeled Jack. The dapper skinny Brit had merely watched our battle from a nearby roof; he lept to Sol's side at her summons. Then, the duo sprang into the night.

I felt vindicated for not having sought Sol out when Tegan had been so worried. That darkling cared much more about her person pleasures than the group that helped her find shelter. I wondered idly how other fae of melancholic humor felt about the pale darkling's strongly sanguine tendencies.

There were a couple of minutes of frantic discussion regarding what we should do about the bodies and would the police track us down. During which, Sean Tallwind, Freerunner, and Lightning Russel just drove off in the taxi. Their opinion was that Athens forensics could not be particularly good. Even so the hairy man and the wrinkled chap kept the bats that they had been holding, just in case finger prints were still a concern.

Tegan Bramblerose went over to the small gathering of people that had started to congregate at the street (with their camera phones) and threw on some glamour to muddle the mortal's memories. Eventually, the attractive and convincing woman walked her new admirers away.

Meanwhile, Rai and Gavin Granitbane loaded the corpses into their Chevy, pushed the car to an empty area of the lot, covered the contents in gas from its own tank, and lit it on fire. Then Mr. Granitbane opened a fire hydrant and directed the water to wash off the pavement, all with his bare stony hands. The panther-man walked his 'cycle away.

I had been confused why the car and bodies were burnt, especially after Rai had taken the time to write in blood on the old beater. I think some of the others had tried to justify the actions as getting rid of evidence. Mostly, I was much more concerned with the remaining living victim of the slaughter.

Iron Wade the Man of Steel helped me gently put the banshee in my Festiva. I knew enough first aid that moving the darkling screamer could be dangerous, however I also inspected her and felt it was worth the risk. Thanks to Tegan disbursing all of the mortals both before and after the fight, I had no idea when someone might find the battered changeling and call 9-1-1. In hind sight, I certainly could have made that call myself, then fled the scene. Again, I point out that I am not a soldier, gang, cop, or anything else that might be used to that kind of gory combat, so I am pretty proud of the amount of clear thought I did apply.

Wade monitored the banshee in the backseat and I drove to O'Bleness Memorial. By the time we got there, neither of us wanted to deal with nurses or questions, though. So, Wade gently extricated the white-haired girl from my car, then left her lying near the hospital's emergency entrance. The next time anyone came in or out of that door, or an ambulance pulled up, then they would see the wounded woman.

I had been think about anything else than what we all had just participated in and thought talking may help further with that distraction. So, as the leathery fencer and I drove around for a while, trying to assess if there was an APB out for us, I told him a theory. "I was thinking about the Child's Rite. It may not help us and it may be wrong, but… well, hear me out."

"Okay…" Iron Wade's hasp-voice inflected the word to indicate that I should continue.

"Red Rhea's clearly a heavy duty melancholic oriented Lady. And the Child's Rite has to be set to renew on the autumnal equinox, so a high point for spirit-touched with melancholic humors." I laid my tan palm open for a moment. "Duke Yaya-Ti said the Child's Rite came from the family of Domain rituals. What if Red Rhea is trying to lock this Court's domain to the autumn changelings? It might do what she says it will, but maybe it also ensures that the current King and Queen can't be deposed." I poked my steering wheel with my index finger. "Maybe Jackie Snow knows this will be a side effect, or the nephew knew. So, Rhea or the Monarchs did kidnap Jackie Snow's nephew. Either as leverage to get Snow to support their take over, or to keep the nephew from telling anyone." I paused to let that sink in.

"If this is the case, then the missing mortal kids could just have been snatched by Rhea and her supporters… To support their claims."

My perpetually haggard passenger thought a second. "I thought you and Tegan found accounts of the ritual acting the way we were told it would?"

"Yeah… we did." I had to agree, I thought about that research. "And the Child's Rite is a sort of mid-level Domain Ritual at that. I did see a reference to the Fisher-King Rite which actually does bind the ruler to the land." I pouted. "Forget it. I was just hoping that we could prevent a sacrifice and not have to worry about the Folk in the process."

Wade empathized.

When Tegan texted that she was heading to Sheaves & Leaves, I dropped Wade off at the bookstore. The scar-cover man had taken some hits in the fight, no open wounds, however the sultry Bramblerose had been offering to provide her Breath of Comfort for any of our troupe, in case it may help sooth the aches of battle. I was physically fine, so I headed to our rental house and locked my Festiva in the garage. Rai's Suzuki was also there. So, I assumed the cat-man had also wanted to keep his vehicle someplace where a passing patrol car could not easily identify it.

Inside the house I found long-fingered Sean, sitting in the corner of the unfurnished dark living room, drinking a beer. It was the burn-scarred man's fourth bottle by my count of the empties next to him. Mr. Tallwind also had large dark bruises blooming on most of his face, so he must have gotten hit a lot more than I had noticed during the fight.

I leaned in the kitchen doorway and greeting mu housemate, then asked, "Rai here?"

The surly man nodded, making his wrinkles wobble, and pointed a four-inch thumb at the wall over his shoulder, towards the bedrooms. "Sleeping."

I nodded, "I thought you were with 'Runner and Russel?"

"Hrmp." Sean grunt-snorted. "Who the hell knows where Russel is. The twerp got panicky and made Freerunner let him out over near the university." He swigged is beer. "The car ride wasn't doing me any good, so I had 'Runner drop me of here… I think he said something about looking for the rest of you."

I assumed the otter-y cabbie had received Tegan's text as I had, so he would be able to coordinate with her. That left Gavin unaccounted for as far as I knew and his phone went straight to voice-mail. So, either Mr. Granitbane was in the Briar, forgot to charge his phone, or forgot to turn it on. I was too frazzled o concern myself further and started to set up my collapsible bedding in the room I normally used.

Just as I finished getting ready for bed, Freerunner showed up with Tegan. The picture perfect woman looked lightly rumpled, which for her meant she was probably more exhausted than me. Miss B cast her restorative glamour and the wrinkled pile in the living room's corner. That gave Sean enough energy to accept the offer to go back to our oak-haven. Since I had just got my air-mattress all set up, I declined the offer to accompany them and that trio left.

By then I had sort of realized that I had collected blood-soaked hats and concluded that I was probably going to keep them. So, I placed each gory cap into a Ziploc bag and left them with the sawed-off ogre bat I had also grabbed in a trash bag in my Festiva. Then I took a nice hot shower, put on my PJs, and went to bed.

On the whole I fell asleep feeling good. I did not like that my allies generally seemed so casual about the deaths they had caused, however the redcaps had deserved it. Plus, my gang had definitely resolved something. I did not relish dealing with Red Rhea and the Salamander Court the next day, yet felt that my troupe had some solid ideas about how to do it and the victory over the ogres would give us all more confidence to follow through.

Fini.

… But what about all that Child's Rite stuff? I believe you say. That is another tale, all on its own.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Tommy's second tale "Black (Friday) Sabbat" is now available on this website. Please check it out.


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